Stoppin' by a Bushlot on a Snotty Night

Whooee! I was just castin' my mind back to when ol' JimBobby was young JimBobby. Away back then, the school teacher made us all rememberize this here poem by Bob Frost. I'm not sure if ol' Bob was any relation to that more famous Frost feller, Jack. Ol' Bob Frost got hisself lassooed as poet lariat fer the USofA by ol' Jack Kennedy afore that sumbitch Ozwald blew Jack's head off.

Well the long an' the short of it is that I was gatherin' some cordwood an' I come up with my own version o' ol' Bob's poem. Ol' Frosty called his poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening . I call my version Stoppin' by a Bushlot on a Snotty Night.

Whose bushlot this is I think I know.
He lives amongst the townfolk though;
He ain't gonna catch me an' that's good,
Cause I'm fillin' my trailer with his cordwood.

Some folks are sayin' this owner's queer,
But that don't mean much t' folks round here;
We don't give two hoots where he plants his cock,
As long as it ain't in my wife or somebody's livestock.

This bushlot's purty an' there's lots o' logs
An' it makes a nice place fer walkin' the dogs;
But a cruiser's slowin' down an' I'm hard t' miss.
I'll tell 'em I was jest havin' a piss.

This bushlot's purty an' the cordwood's dry,
But the cops is comin' so I better fly.
Next time I see the owner, I'll give'm a wink,
But careful-like on accounta what the townfolk think.

Yores trooly,
JimBobby