Sin-O-Meter

In the parish of St. Millzeter
Lived one pastor named Brother Peter
Holier he thought than a fasting skeeter
Glad to be Millzeter's leader

Each Sunday morn he'd preach the word
"From sin and folly, y'all must turn!"
"And if you don't you'll surely burn!"
"A man who sins is quite absurd!"

To better help those in Millzeter
He created a new Sin-O-Meter
To separate those in Millzeter
The "Good" from liars, thieves, and cheaters

Each person wore upon their head
A Sin-O-Meter like Peter said
So all could see the sins of Ted,
Bill and John and Rose and Jed

So in the town of St. Millzeter
The one whose leader was Brother Peter
Where everyone wore a Sin-O-Meter
The town now full of thieves and cheaters

For the Sin-O-Meters blinked and blinked
Heads hung low all through the streets
All were filled up with deceit
Millzeter was a town defeated

On Sunday morn the church was filled
They beat their breasts, emotions spilled
Brother Peter smiled - he was quite thrilled
His Sin-O-Meter still showed nil

But little Jimmy gave out a shout
He noticed Peter's batteries out
He gave his own, that little sprout
And Peter's Meter turned about

All eyes up front towards Peter's head
His hands were white, his face was red
His Sin-O-Meter quickly spread
From zero and white to black instead

And then Granny Nadle dropped her teeth
They fell right down beside her feet
She leaned on over and tried to reach
And flashed her bloomers in front of preacher

With skirts flung up and bloomers shown
Pete's Sin-O-Meter then exploded
He ran out the church and down the road
And passed the cross and never slowed

Suns Out Guns Out

I knew a lad his name was Ryan
He loved it when the sun did shine.
When the sun came out he'd shed his sleeves.
And all the girls would be quite pleased.
They'd "Oooh" and "Aaah," their jaws would lower,
He'd turn and wink from atop his mower.
And sometimes flex and smile and wave,
He looked so trim, so strong, so brave.
All the she's from Californ,
Ventured near this landscape porn.
To watch him mow, and rake, and dig,
And dream of him in leaves of fig.
The winter months could be quite grey,
And in his sleeves his guns did stay -
But summertime the sun came out,
And all the girls would run and shout!
Cause Ryan would wear his white tank tops
And oh those guns of his would pop!

A SasKwatches Feeld Guide 4 Sir-vivaL (BASIK SKiLLS NEEdED)

1. Don't lite a fire in the water. It wont werk.
2. Don't sit on pointy stix - they hurt.

4. Never pass gas in a small cave - it stinks.
5. Don't die - we're the missin' links.

5. When sleeping on a mountin, put yore head up-hill!
3. Don't sleep in the snow - yu'll catch a chill.

7. Honey bees don't taste like honey.
12. Don't walk into town whin it's sunny!

? Before eating a bird - take off its feathers.
? Before eating a man - take off his leather.

? Don't walk in the street whin a cars passin' by.
11? Don't sit on a fire cawse yore skwatch will fry.

Foller these rules and you'll be alrite!
Don't foller 'em and you'll probly die.

The Giant and the Mouse

A giant and a mouse sat down and they played tic-tac-toe.
The giant put and "X" down, the mouse then put an "O".
The giant played an "X" again in hopes to make a row,
But mouse he blocked the giant's path, so on the game must go.
Befuddled and bemused a bit the giant played again;
He put an "X" inside a box in hopes that he would win.
"Not Today!" the mouse did say, "though smaller than your shin,"
"This match is mine, three in a row; what fun this game has been."

The giant then, he looked right down, the mouse was smiling wide,
He grabbed the mouse, and ate him whole, and then he went outside.

Hearts of Dixie

I love this land of fields of green, of pines, and whitened sands,
I love this land of darker soil, of skin the sun has tanned.
Was gone awhile but I came back cause I am Alabam,
It's time to get back to our roots and prune the grafted damned.
The whitewashed tombs who hold the keys that Jesus threw away,
The brood of vipers spitting poison on our Alabama clay.
Get out your banjo, get out your fiddle, it's time to dance a jig,
It's time to plant a garden, and feed someone your pig.
Let's help the widows and orphans, let's feed the poor our best;
Let's take off this belt locked 'round our waist and shed this prided chest.
Grow some squash and grow some corn and plow up all your hate,
That's plowing up our freedom here in this Alabama state.
Porky Pig and piglet too, and Mickey Mouse's shout,
We think that we now own this land so kick the unwanted out.
Lest we forget we slaughtered those, the natives from before;
And cast them out while flinging rocks like the pharisees and whore.
Pocket your stones and pocket your hate and pocket your wocca-wocca;
Let's give the world a fresher vision; let's give the world a shock-a.
Elephants and donkeys and Joseph Smith's bros,
Our state is filled with those above, plus a few Latinos.
Let's pass out all the collards, the barbecue and bread,
And love our neighbors as ourselves just like Jesus said.