Howskeeping Poem by John Bliven Morin

Do you ever pick yore nose
Whilst yore ironin’ the clothes?
Do the boogers hit the iron?
Do they fall betwixt yore toes?

Do they sizzle on the back?
Do they dance an' then turn black?
Do they send up little smokelets
Thet smell like Granny's crack?

Do you ever have to sneeze
Whilst yore makin’ mac ‘n cheese?
Does yore snot go in the pot
Or drip harmless on yore knees?

Does yore family ever care
If they find a pubic hair
In the biscuits thet you baked
In yore winter underwear?

Do you make a fancy roll
In yore belly button hole?
Do you form a row of donuts
On yore sleepin’ uncle’s pole?

Did you get some baby poop
In the pot of green pea soup?
You ortn’t change them diapers
Whilst yore cookin’ fer the troop.

You can be a purfeck wife,
Live a long and happy life,
If you never tell yore secrets,
If you never tell yore strife.

If they never ketch you pickin’,
If they never ketch you stickin’,
Or coughin’ way to often
Whilst yore cookin’ in the kitchen.

Copyright (C) 2003 by John Bliven Morin,
writing as Hardin Post