Thursday, December 31, 2009

Louisiana - The Happiest State

I heard it on the TV,
So I know it must be true.
Louisiana’s number one
We’re happy, me and you!

Our governor is brilliant,
His intellect is grand.
But we don’t need no Ivy League-
We got a Grambling band.

Highest unemployment,
Lowest Leap Test scores;
But you won’t hear our neighbors gripe-
They’re at the Wal-Mart store.

Our leaders are so famous-
They steal and cheat and lie.
We just keep electing them-
While eatin’ pecan pie.

When you’ve got no standards,
When you grow up poor,
You love the sound of mailman knocking-
Gubment check is at the door!

Our lawyers and our judges
Protect us with their code.
If you co-sign on their loans,
You’ll hit the mother-lode!

Oil and gas might kill us-
Casinos make us broke.
We’ll just drink and Beaujolais
And take another toke.

So keep your higher standards-
And keep your equal pay;
The Bible Belt will save us-
Sacred babies lead the way.

We’re thankful for our happiness,
We’re glad Katrina came.
She blew away the poor folk,
The devil, he’s to blame.

Teachers, social workers,
The clergy and the cops-
So happy with their low, low wage,
Resort to pushing mops.

But we in Louisiana,
We embrace all of this.
Keep us fat and dumb and poor,
For ignorance is bliss.

Monday, December 21, 2009

My Sanctified Range Rover

I have a little cross
It's here for all to see;
It dangles from my mirror,
And sets my conscience free.

When I feel the chill
Of a cold December wind,
I focus on my little cross-
Thank God, I'm not like them.

They shiver at the bus stop,
They work low-level jobs;
But I've been blessed with college-
My license lets me rob.

The work I do is legal
So no one can complain-
My little cross reminds me
I need not be ashamed.

My passion is the poor-
I bind them in red tape.
Law partners call it 'counsel;'
But clients call it rape.

I make a filthy fortune
When my friends divorce.
My cross absolves me of my guilt-
I never feel remorse.

If Jesus wore a nicer suit
And drove an S.U.V.,
There'd really be no difference
Between my Christ and me.

The poor will always have their debt;
The rich will always wed.
I'm thankful that they pay me well-
I'd have to sue instead.

So when I leave my office
So very late at night,
And drive to my McMansion
To my children and my wife,

I thank the Lord and praise Him
For my law degree.
I know my little dashboard cross
Will hide my sins from Thee.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

A Poem for Woody, Pete, and All the Good Ol' Boys at the Courthouse

I think I'll buy myself a judge.
Yeah - that'll teach her who's boss.

He's just a kid - he'll never know about all this.
He's just a kid.
I'll shut him up with toys and ballgames and expensive summer vacations.

But her - SHE'S the one who screwed everything up.
She rejected me - she walked away after he was born.
She needed me, dammit!
I told her over and over, but she wouldn't listen.

She's just getting what's coming to her -
Like my Mom, when Dad left with me.
Look at him now - living in that trailer park on the Mexican border.
Women in and out of his life all these years
While Mom worked at the Wal-Mart.
He sure made her've got to make 'em pay.

Yeah, he taught me how to be a real man.
Don't make a baby with me
And think you're just gonna walk away and have a life!
You stupid woman!

Look at the one I've got now!
Two kids later, and she's obsessed with the gym and can't stop shopping.
She knew a good thing when she saw it -
All it takes is a Range Rover and a meal ticket to keep her satisfied.

Throw in a little religious talk,
And she feels too guilty to leave me.
Stupid b*itch - I pardon a few indiscretions and she thinks she owes me for forgiving her!

HA! And I just keep nailing my office staff - stupid girls...
They keep me from getting bored with her constant complaining and her drinking.

She sees what'll happen if she tries to leave me.

Yeah, I'll buy me a judge.

That'll make me a real man.