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They're picking up the pieces
with a shovel and a rake
'cause he grabbed a silken stocking,
when he should have grabbed the brake :-(
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When Aunty Flo
Became a Crow
She had a bed put in a tree;
And there she lay
And read all day
Of ornithology.
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Tax his land, tax his wage,
Tax his bed in which he lays.
Tax his tractor, tax his mule,
Teach him taxes is the rule
Tax his cow, tax his goat,
Tax his pants, tax his coat.
Tax his ties, tax his shirts,
Tax his work, tax his dirt
Tax his chew, tax his smoke,
Teach him taxes are no joke.
Tax his car, tax his grass,
Tax the roads he must pass
Tax his food, tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.
Tax his sodas, tax his beers,
If he cries, tax his tears
Tax his bills, tax his gas,
Tax his notes, tax his cash.
Tax him good and let him know
That after taxes, he has no dough
If he hollers, tax him more,
Tax him until he's good and sore.
Tax his coffin, tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he lays
Put these words upon his tomb,
"Taxes drove me to my doom!"
And when he's gone, we won't relax,
We'll still be after the inheritance tax
Ring any bells lol
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Down the stream the swans all glide;
It's quite the cheapest way to ride.
Their legs get wet,
Their tummies wetter:
I think after all
The bus is better
Another one from spike
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Heard this many years ago on a show read by Jim Dale
Many, many years ago
when I was twenty-three,
I got married to a widow
who was as pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
and change my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
for she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
a brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown up daughter who,
of course, was my step-mother
Father's wife then had a son,
who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
and it makes me blue,
Because, although she is my wife,
she's my grandma too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
then I am her grandchild
And every time I think of it,
it simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
the strangest case you ever saw,
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!
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Not really a poem
Letter from an Irish Mother to her Son
Dear Son,
Just a few lines to let you know I'm still alive. I'm writing this letter slowly because I know you can't read fast. We are all doing very well.
You won't recognise the house when you get home - we have moved. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles from your home, so we moved. I won't be able to send you the address because the last Irish family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so that they wouldn't have to change their address.
This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I'm not sure it works so well though: last week I put a load in and pulled the chain and haven't seen them since.
Your father's got a really good job now. He's got 500 men under him. He's cutting the grass at the cemetery.
Your sister Mary had a baby this morning but I haven't found out if it's a boy or a girl, so I don't know whether you are an auntie or an uncle.
Your brother Tom is still in the army. He's only been there a short while and they've already made him a court martial!
Your Uncle Patrick drowned last week in a vat of whiskey in the Dublin Brewery. Some of his workmates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely. They cremated him and it took three days to put out the fire.
I'm sorry to say that your cousin Seamus was arrested while riding his bicycle last week. They are charging him with dope peddling.
I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for ten minutes. Your father offered to buy it from him.
The weather isn't bad here. It only rained twice this week, first for three days and then for four days. Monday was so windy one of the chickens laid the same egg four times.
We had a letter from the under-taker. He said if the last payment on your Grandmother's plot wasn't paid in seven days, up she comes.
About that coat you wanted me to send you, your Uncle Stanley said it would be too heavy to send in the mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.
John locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really worried because it took him two hours to get me and your father out.
Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pick-up truck. Ralph was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to safety. Your other two friends were in back. They drowned because they couldn't get the tailgate down.
There isn't much more news at this time. Nothing much has happened.
Your loving Mum
P.S. I was going to send you some money but I had already sealed the envelope.
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I wish I loved the Human Race;
I wish I loved its silly face;
I wish I liked the way it walks;
I wish I liked the way it talks;
And when I'm introduced to one,
I wish I thought "What Jolly Fun!"
Professor Sir Walter Alexander Raleigh (1861-1922)
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