Scattered piles of corn,
No more room in the crib.
Hunered holes in Ma's dress,
Not a one in her new bib.
Wheelbarrow for every Saturday washin',
Pa forgives me for stayin'dirty.
Squealing and gruntin',
The pigs, not Pa.
If Pa knew the Bible like them hogs,
He'd for sure go to heaven.
Pa has a hurt that runs up his elbow,
Tittis', he calls it, but the hogs couldn't get it.
Pa never hits me, like he does that anvil,
But sometimes he gets mad.
Know, cause his mouth gets all squarish,
And he turns all bright red and such.
Never really understand, why all thangs happen?
Like inclement weather and women.
Pa says, 'Stay away from these,
So, I'm happy.'
We're gettin' a new cow shed,
And a new hog pen this summer.
Ain't life great on the farm.
Ain't life simple.
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