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Shrimp 'n Grits

Twas da night befo Votin

Twas da night befo votin, n all through Joes City,
All e cronies ben smoozin, eben Ms. Kitty.

Da land deals ben stashed in da brief case ta tote,
N hopes dat His Honor would soon get da vote.

E council ben sittin all smug in da places
While visions o pay-backs danced fo da faces.
N Rusty wid e Chief Hat, n Joe n e palace,
Had just settled in fo ta do some mo malice.
When up at da Fish Tank dere rose such a cry,
Joe sprang from e throne cus no tourist ben by.
Away ta da Quarium e flew up on DASH,
Tore open da checkbook n look fo de cash.
Da dust on da seats on da just close-up IMAX
Ben bad news fo fishes, less dey get sum mo tax.

When what to e beady little eyes should appear,
But e own personal rickshaw jus rollin up near.
Den de little old Mayor, e lets out wits a wale,
Cause e be afraid deQuarium gawn fail.
More rapid than cannons, his curses did shriek,
As e strutted n sputtered ta make Council meek.
Now Wilson! Now Waring!, now Evans n Tinkler!
On, Gilliard! On Gallant! On Morinelli n Bleeker!
To da top o da stairs, fo ta fill City Hall,
Now vote my way! Vote my way! Vote my way- all!
As e beats back da few, whose votes e cant buy,
When e meets wit da truth, e turns ta da sly.
N up ta da Court House e pettifogger flew,
With a fist full o law suits fo Charlton ta do.

N den n da inklin, Joes look fo e proof,
Ta cover e tracks from e latest Big Goof.
As e jerked back e neck from a nudder big blunder,
E jump from e rickshaw n fell right on under.
E was covered in Hos Poop from e chin ta e knees,
N looked like a preacher who jus cut da cheese.
Big Buckets o Chickin e pull from e pack,
N look like da cheap suit jus fall from de rack.
E eyed dat man Tinkler who grin like a Ferret,
As Gilliard ben look fo da camera ta snear at.
E dumped out da Pok Ribs all ova da street
N hopes dat e cronies dont vote wid da feet.
E broad little ears dey ben as Red as da Herrin,
Dat flapped like a pigeon when e start ta swearin.
E looked shriveled n slump like a Piccolo Elf,
N mos liberal enuf ta vote twice fo e self.
Wit a flash o e eyes n a snap o e neck
E look like a gambler wit jus a Half Deck.
Den e croak out a speech dat ben filled wit e works,
Cause e tink dat da voters jus be da dumb jerks.
Wit e pointy little finger held up ta e nose,
E look like Napoleon, sept e aint got no clothes.

E sprang ta e rickshaw, n ta Council did whistle,
N away da all flew like Splato Clowns on a missile.

But e let out a scream as e passed north o Broad,
Da taxpayers dont know dat Im just a Big Fraud!


With my humblest literary apology to Clement Clark Moore

Lee Walton

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