It's a perfect Springtime morning,
gentle breeze and clear blue sky,
From the window of my prison,
I watch my horses racing by.
Bucking, snorting, prancing,
then wheel and dash a way,
A siren call to this ol' Cowboy,
" Pull on your boots, come out and play. "
I have emptied out my sock drawer,
and cleaned off the pick-up dash,
added and subtracted,
The receipts from every stash.
Now I may not be real good at math,
But it's awful plain to see ,
Ottawa, will have to survive another year,
without a cheque from me.
So throw them papers in the sack,
I've had enough of that,
I'm headed out to catch a horse,
as quick as I can grab my hat.
Other articles by Mike Puhallo