{petry Hrour qurh MCDOUGAL

Advice from on high
for those who know nigh
and wont into Balderdash do fly:

The Smith and the Wesson: a graham of wheat
germ
(Nothing yet learned from this avuncular firm)

Travel on -
pack soy like mussels
in a fitted skirt

leather, she wore the lady of wonk
Stop not 'til you --

Fitherington, Schwartz, Melville and Monk.

Ahhh ...
The firmest of firms
All lace and panties
Too rich for our blood
(whiskey shanties)

The old lady come lately
and around she did
telling secrets she ought have kept hid

Her father she drank, buffled and swore
The young filligrees ready and looking to score
Pollution they said had worn down her teeth
The hot seat had warmed her behind from beneath

And this that she said to she and her brother:

"Barely awakened in me, the thoughts of another.
Long may she ride, this valley's no gorge -
These mountains from moles and onward we forge
'til thoughts are alone: no you nor me"

Wont was she to say the damnedest of things,
her thoughts like mites on gilded wings
they peck and they poke, though seldom sink in

And into whimsy never again.

Thine this and thine that in a strawberry hat and mine is not to wonder
For on this road, I sought clear skies but all along there was thunder.

No facts have been uttered and no fiction buttered

And I no wiser than then.

And nothing is true,
but alone here I sit
Smelling like shit
And always dripping of goo.