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Shrimp 'n Grits

Swimp Mon’s Clap-hat Spoleto

It soon ta be dat Spoleto time,
When fairies dance ‘n poets rhyme.
Downton’ be fu’l wid’ dem hambon’ folk,
Impressed by mirrors ‘n lots ‘o smoke.

De City, it be one big sho’,
All crafted by dat Swimp Mon Joe.
‘E git ‘e cronies ta f’un de pla’s,
Fuh winks ‘n nods on udda’ deys.

Dem Spoleto folk, ‘o how de flitter,
F’um Broad ta Market, jus’ fooled by glitter.
But da real trute be, de arts dem founder,
Fuh lack ‘o cash ‘n budgets sounder.

De f’uns dey jus’ ain’t cum no mo’,
Ta pay de flute ‘n harp fuh Joe.
De big banks gwan in da latest crash,
‘N Swimp Mon’s chums be short on cash.

De ‘conomy, it be gittin wors’,
‘N folks, dem got de small’a purse.
De Stim’lis fun’s ain’t trickled down
Ta help Swimp Mon ta pay dem clown.

Spoleto alltime bin da fragile sho’,
Dat need dem patron wid lots ‘o dough.
Wid’out big bucks, it jus’ can’t float,
‘N dis be git’in de Swimp Mon’s goat.

But it be one sho’ dat don’t cost ‘a ‘ting-
Be de Swimp Mon’s Council, dat’s paid ta sing.
De song dey croon be set ta verse,
Fuh thirty-plus years – de Swimp Mon’s curse

Lee Walton

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