Kern's Holler Poem Bunker
Tater Gumfries
The Chitlin Sausage Poem  (with apologies to Robert Burns -- if you ain't familiar with  it, look up "Address to a Haggis".)

Y'all have a purdy face,
Boss man of the sausage race
Over em all ye take yer place
A heap o' guts and chitlins
Grampa, won't you say the grace?
And make it short and fittin'.

You plum fill up my scoopin' spoon
Your fat ass like a Georgia moon
That pin would like to stitch a coon
When we'uns is a hurtin'
Plump as a carnival balloon
Yer juices is a squirtin'

That good ol' boy cleaned off his knife
And cut you like you was his wife
Split ya open, drained yer life
An glory be! Yer guts spilt out
They's some good eatin in that slice
That's real food, there ain't no doubt

Then the good old boys dig in
They stuff their faces, grunt and grin
Greasy trails down the chin
Tho Cleetus woulda belched aloud
To be polite he held it in
His restraint made mama proud

That Yankee with his fancy pies
Slick city food, raw fish and eyes
That's like to make yer bile rise
He might think this Southern dish
That's just some innards in disguise
Ain't good enough to feed to fish

But look at him, jes sippin tea
His bony arm, his knobby knee
He sure don't look too tough to me
And if he wound up in a fight
With Billy Bob or Jimmy Lee
He'd like to run off in a fright

But take a look at Cleetus here
He built that gut with grits and beer
An' ain't nobody far or near
That wants to tussle with this boy
He'll split your face, he'll box your ear
And knock you over like a toy

If y'all care about yer kin
And where good Southern eats fit in
Old Dixie don't want nothin' thin
That you might slop fer hawgs
But if you want to see a grin
Just feed me chitlin sausage dawgs!

This here is a real happy little song. Gotta imagine a German oompah band playin, and waggle your golden blond braids while you singin it.

Just like Hitler

When the sun come up
Tater hopped out of bed
Juuust liiike Hitler!

He cracked him some eggs
And he cut a piece of bread
Juuust liiike Hitler!

He jumped in the truck
And he got himself to work
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Pinched the girls butts
And acted like a jerk
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Lunch time come
Tater's sittin on his bum
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Ate his vittles and
Chewed a stick of gum
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Well, he worked all day then he
Went out for a drink
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Come on back
Found the dishes in the sink
Juuust liiike Hitler!

He poured himself a whiskey
And he lay down in his bed
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Grabbed him a pistol
And he put it to his head
Juuust liiike Hitler!

Just like Hitler,
Just like Hitler
When the grandkids ask
"Daddy, what was Tater like?" tell em
"Juuust liiike Hitler!"

My Sleek and Shining Bacon

How I miss it, how I pine
Smell so luscious, taste divine
my sleek and shining bacon!

My wife, you see, with no holds barred
Has just declared a war on lard.
We're not to buy, or eat or shit
A single piddling piece of it.

"How can we live?" I cry "Alack!"
"without the meat from piggies back?"
But she is firm in her blockade,
There will no cassoulet be made
Nor quiche Lorraine, nor ham and eggs
Not even porc pâté.

How I miss it, how I pine
Smell so luscious, taste divine
my sleek and shining bacon!

You can sing this to the tune of "Ol Man River"

Ol Man Toenails

Ol' man toenails,
Dose ol' man toenails
Dey so damned yeller
Dey make a feller
Feel like a geezer
He jes can't please her no more.

Dey look like cornflakes
Dey peel and dey break
An' dem dat gots em
Knows dat dey rotten
But ol' man toenails
Dey jus don't grow right at all.

You an' me, we rack our brains,
Toe be achin' an' racked wid pain,
File em down!
Clip dat nail!
Rip de root out
An' scream in pain.

Ah gits weary
An' sick of tryin'
Ah'm tired of filin'
An' skeered of cryin',
But ol' man toenails,
Dey jes' keeps crackin' along.

Paint em up
An' let em lay,
Use Fungicure
Least twice a day.
Pretty soon
A month or so,
You be seein
Good toenail grow

Ol' man toenails,
Dose ol' man toenails
Dey was so yeller
But now dis feller
Feel like a young 'un
Dey don't be fungin no more!

This here sonnet got a rhyme scheme go ABA BCB CDC DED EE. The internets say that an Italian feller name of Dante Aglieri invented that way of rhymin. Well, Tater thinks that Dante done a pretty good job, so Tater's honor bound to do him proud. Took a good shot at it, anyways.

The Half Dead Possum

Oh, half dead possum, you is rousin Tater's pity
Didn't want to leave you there to die
But stoppin woulda jinxed up Tater's only chance at titty.

See, he's drivin to the airport, Tater's fixin up to fly
Goin up to Denver, he's declarin for Marlene
Go on up there and convince her ought to give this boy a try

Sometimes in the holler, things seem so low and mean,
But that most likely ain't the way things really are.
That's just the way bein lonesome makes em seem.

Dadgummit, Tater shoulda just drove up there with the car
But cause the heater works, he took the truck
And Tater he don't steer so good, drinkin moonshine from a jar

So he couldn't swerve to miss that possum, durn the luck
And cause he's so soft hearted, gonna stop and miss a chance to fuck.

Tater reads it aloud

Tater reads it aloud with atmospherics by RastaBillyBob

Mama's Brain

First time Tater heard the news,
It had got him all confused,
How'd mama die while drivin in her car?
But then Tater got to thinkin,
Maybe mama had been drinkin
She musta spent all night out at the bar.

It was Friday, seven thirty
Mama workin to get purty:
Made Tater and his brother watch the store.
She was hopin to get lucky,
Meet a man and get all fucky
Our mama was a good hard workin whore.

And she turned out on the highway with a bottle on the seat.
She couldn't steer for beans and that's a drag.
Mama tried to make the corner but momentum had her beat.
Now they sendin us her brain home in a bag.

Now that mama ain't no more,
Leavin Tater with the store;
Sellin bait and jerky, oil and gas.
Tater's gonna need some money,
And although it might sound funny.
It's mama's brain that's gonna save his ass.

So we sued the funeral parlor, for the way they sent her things
They tried to claim it's Utahs' fault, but here is the snag.
They shoulda knowed the smell weren't from the high heels and her wig.
But they sent our mama's brain home in a bag.

How to do it

The tools are simple:

First you need a room
dark, hard and clear

Then you need a rope,
you know the kind:
snarling, ragged, with a loop
a loop to tidy things up
no loose ends

A rafter, a stool, that's it.

Then you need no reason not to.

You climb up,
push off,
and you're home.