These days every
fool has written rap,
Except for me. But I'll fill that gap.
I'll scrawl about what I know best,
I'll give it a voice—you'll
be my guest.
You know how hot Georgia summer is—
But try to garden, if you please.
I like my flower blooms year 'round;
July and August are bad, I've found.
And then they tell you, "Hey, hey, hey!
You're not to water every day."
Oh, damn your orders! What a plight!
So, now I water just by night
(It also keeps the thieves away).
I like to treat my turf my way!
I sleep by day—that's
not so hard,
But then, what happens to my yard?
My phlox, my mums still don't look good!
There's yellow sticks where mallows stood!
The Susans goggle their black eyes,
Impatiens shrunk to pigmy size.
I bought a heap of plastic blooms
And sprayed them all with good perfumes.
I stuck them any place I could.
My yard now looks just like it should—
And it's A HIT all over the 'hood'!
