BLOODY POOR AT
CHRISTMAS
At Christmas time when we were
kids, we were bloody poor, Santa
weren't too generous when he knocked upon our door, But we made do by saving every little bit “We may be poor" said dear old dad, "I don’t give a
shit!"
Our Christmas
tree stood tall, and stiff as an Indian totem pole, With Christmas baubles hanging there
as testis in a scrotum, All we kids
would piss ourselves, when grandpa dropped his guts
“We may be poor" said dear old dad, "I don’t give a shit!"
“We may be poor" said dear old dad, "I don’t give a shit!"
We’d leave a twelve pack that was gone when we got up, Then I found out Santa was just my dad, the alcoholic prick, “We may be poor" said dear old dad, "I don’t give a shit!"
Now I can hardly wait till I've got kids, so I
get all the beer!
I think that I shall never hear a poem as lovely as a beer. The drink That Gracie’s bar has on tap, with golden base and snowy cap. I drink that golden stuff all day until my memory floats away, “We may be poor" said dear old dad, "I don’t give a shit!"
I think that I shall never hear a
poem lovelier than the stuff That Gracie’s Bar has on tap, with golden base and
snowy cap. The foamy
stuff I drink all day, until my memory melts away “We
may be poor" said dear old dad, "I don’t give a shit!"
Poems are made by fools, I fear, but only Coors
can make a beer What is bliss, and which the way? Come, my lad
Drink some beer
in water clear as falling rain, “We may be poor" said
dear old dad, "I don’t give a shit!"
DR. KARL WALLACE D.D.S.
For more Karl Wallace Poems go
to:
www.karlwallaceblog.blogspot.com
All in all, we had
fun and lots of beer, I was
only 8
