BillyJoe Bob sat leaning,
Against an old stump,
Watching Carolyn working,
Just lazily sitting on his rump.
Thinks he is so privileged,
Just lazing all about,
In one ear and out the others,
When the kids shout.
Don't lift a single finger,
Nope, he sits and looks on,
While poor ole wife is toiling,
Working her fingers to the bone.
Chewing on a piece of fried squirrel,
Fresh ice tea to drink,
Hey! he's the man of the house,
He is only supposed to think.
Mama can do the work,
That is what women are fer,
Men are a special breed,
Don't all you females concur?
What you mean you would not stand,
And let this stuff go on,
Is your man a mouse,
Or the ruler of his home?
Now don't y'all go talking to Carolyn,
Giving her ideas in her head,
She might decide there is a better life,
And boot me outta our bed.
I am happy as can be,
I have a happy home,
Now folks keep your thoughts to yourself,
And leave me and mine alone.
Guess I better git a mov'in,
Need to catch a rabbit or two,
Mama is 'bout to finish the washing,
She's still got supper to do.
Redneck Poetry Shelf ©
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