Summertime

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Old hound dog layin' in the dust all forlorn
pain in his rump, 'cause he's sittin' on a thorn
all energy sapped from scratchin' his ear
take's 'im all his time to breathe the air.

Rabbit's eyein' him from 'neath the porch
knowin' full well he could out scorch
him in a race to the yellow corn patch
on a hundred degree day he'll be no match.

Paint's been sand blown from the walls
and the rickety ol' house is beginnin' to fall
roofs gone rusty, needs a paint
not by me, energetic is somethin' I aint.

Duvet hung on line to give the mites some air
wont be needin' it tho, now that summer's here
lie stark bollocky on the bed with a sheet
anything'll do, to get away from this heat.

Sacks on the windows, should be holdin' corn
thanks to the sandstorm, that's all gone
mice with packed swags have left the field
away south, lookin' for a better yield.

I'd take this ol' body to the river for a dip
but there was no chance of even gettin' a toe wet
river's bin dry since God knows when
'n' the fish all left 'way before then.

Tellin this tale is makin' me dry
'n' the moonshine jug's out of rye
guess I'd better move before I fry
find some shade, oh, 'n' some more rye.


Sammy
samart@slingshot.co.nz

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