| Pappy with the Khaki sweatband
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| Bowed goat potbellied barnyard that only he noticed
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| The old fart was smart
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| The old gold cloth madonna
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| Dancin' to the fiddle and saw
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| He ran down behind the knoll
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| And slipped on his wooden fishhead
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| The mouth worked and snapped all the bees back to the bungalow
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| Mama was flattenin' lard
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| With her red enamel rolling pin
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| When the fishhead broke the window
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| Rubber eye erect and precisely detailed
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| Airholes from which breath should come
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| Is now closely fit
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| With the chatter of the old fart inside
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| An assortment of observations took place
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| Mama licked her lips like a cat
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| Pecked the ground like a rooster
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| Pivoted like a duck
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| Her stockings down caught dust and doughballs
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| She cracked her mouth glaze, caught one eyelash
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| Rubbed her hands on her gorgeous gingham
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| Her hands grasped sticky metal intricate latchwork
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| Open to the room, a smell cold mixed with bologna
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| Rubber bands crumpled wax paper bonnets
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| Fat goose legs and special jellies
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| Ignited by the warmth of the room
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| The old fart smelled this through his important breather holes
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| Cleverly he dialed from within from the outside we observed
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| That the nose of the wooden mask
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| Where the holes had just been a moment ago
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| Was now smooth amazingly blended camouflaged in
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| With the very intricate rainbow trout replica
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| The old fart inside was now breathing freely
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| From his perfume bottle atomizer air bulb invention
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| His excited eyes from within the dark interior glazed
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| Watered in appreciation of his thoughtful preparation
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| Oh man, so heavy |