A traditional hillbilly ditty.
My Granpaw was a hillbilly who lived out in the sticks.
He hadn't changed his underwear since 1896.
For forty generations all his kin had been inbred.
That's why folks said my Granpaw was peculiar in the head.
He couldn't read, he couldn't write, he was no good at figgers,
But he'd drink moonshine every night until he got the jiggers.
His boots were made of gator hide, of skunk fur were his pants.
The fur was on the inside so they'd itch him till he'd dance.
Now, one time in the forest Granpaw met a grizzly bear.
I won't go into what he then did in his underwear.
But Granpaw was resourceful and so up a tree he shinned.
The bear came climbing after him, with murdrous fangs he grinned.
The bear climbed up the tree trunk where my Granpaw it had led.
With one great bite the critter then bit off my Granpaw's head.
Then Granpaw went all shivery and limp - please do not scoff:
It's hard to be heeroic when yore head's been bitten off.
There was a most horrendous thump when he fell to the ground.
The echo of his tumble, it reverberated round.
We buried him beneath the tree. A simple stone stands there.
Beneath you'll find his skellington, still in his underwear.
The above masterpiece is copyright.