Shade in Georgia

Hickory dickory dock

The Falcons are on the clock

The clock wound down

They drafted a clown

Hickory dickory dock


Hey diddle diddle

Kirby Smart played the fiddle

And the Bulldogs barked at the moon

Larry Munson Laughed to see such sport

Nobody wants two a days in June


Glory indeed to football in Georgia

Do your best and call it a day

What would ol’ Lewis Grizzard have to say?

Waiting on the Tide

It’s the second day of summer and it’s bringing everything great

Cold beer and barbecues and baseball players sliding across home plate

But while folks are at the lake on their boats and water skis

At the beach soaking up the sun and enjoying the warm sea breeze

I sit counting down the days and marking off the calendar page

Til they turn the crimson elephants loose from their Tuscaloosa cage

I just can wait to see them stampede and trample run other teams down

Bringing a rolling tide to every landlocked Southern town

They will be the envy of the nation as they build up success

The result of furious practice and a legendary Process

The volunteers and razorbacks and those blasted tigers too

Will all go under when the Crimson Tide rolls through

I know that the team is working hard through two a days

And they are sharpening their tusks on some brand new plays

But it’s still two months til the season starts and we bid summer adieu

So until then I can only shout a proud Roll Tide to you

Ode to Fireball

He’s the golden voice that soars along with the eye in the sky

Fireball Turnbull is always ready to take off and fly

Making sure that every traffic alert, both large and minute

Is sent across the airwaves to save our commute

And when the traffic copter routes are done

You’ll find him at the racetrack with the setting sun

Calling the starting order at the dirt track

And announcing the man that hoists a victory plaque

He’s chasing his dream with undying love

Always looking down with a smile from above

We should all envy Fireball’s master plan

Because his drive and passion makes him a hell of a man

And until the day that his dreams come true

He will ride the skies watching out for me and you

Lazy Water Poem

I’ve never met water that I didn’t love

A calm morning ocean

Pouring rain from above

We are three fourths water

But I think I may be more

I am always drawn to any shore

The smallest stream

Or the widest river

A mountain stream that sends shivers

From the freezing cold flow

I love a pool in the summer

And I love a good hot bath

I could be part fish

Or shark when I’m inclined

I can’t get enough of the waters of the world

Each beautiful and unique in their design



Empty Fridge

It’s a crying shame, there’s no one to blame

No one other than me, so here is my plea

I took one trip too many, until there weren’t any

Frosty cold beers left, none to borrow from my peers

Three days from payday, nothing left for me to say

I suppose I’ll just do without, maybe sit and pout

My fridge has no soul with a beer shaped hole

My thirst grows by the hour, my mood is sour

I don’t know what I’ll do, how I’ll get through

I guess I’ll be sober for now, but mark my vow

I’ll send a prayer to the girl in the moon

Hopeful she will bless me with more of the High Life real soon.


The Ballad of the Bullet

Bob Armstrong lost the match, so he’s gotta leave town

There’s no one left to stop the Flame from burning Dothan down

No one is left to save folks in Pensacola, they all might just drown


But rumors around Montgomery say a Savior is on the way

He’s a masked man who’s tough enough to join the Continental fray

A man who’s bad to the bone, and he’s gonna make them all pay


He will take on Ron Fuller, Jos Le Duc and the Mongolian Stomper too

He’s a natural born hero, who stands for everything good and true

There won’t be one single bad guy left standing when this hero is through


The Bullet is loaded for bear and headed down to fight

He will be at the Houston County Farm Center this Friday night

He will avenge his best friend Bob and make everything all right


The Bullet is coming to clear the snakes from the Wiregrass

When the last bell rings Friday night and everything has come to pass

Stories will be told forever of the time The Bullet opened an Armstrong sized can of whoop ass.

Good Afternoon Catfish

Good afternoon catfish, surely you must’ve slept late

cause you didn’t touch a single thing I put on your breakfast plate

I threw it right at you, right in your bed a mouthful at a time

But you didn’t take any of it and that bait was USDA prime

It is well past lunchtime now, the perfect hour for a snack

I’ve packed some Vienna Sausages, got ’em right in my sack

They are the best kind, covered in delicious hot sauce

I just had a great idea that you’ll find out about with my next toss

I’ll dip one of those plastic lures right down into that sausage can

And I’ll send it right down to you, you whisker faced wise man

Maybe that will spark some life into you after your good night sleep

And you will pay me a little visit from the cold and muddy deep



There’s a demon inside me, always on the prowl

And on The night before payday you can hear him start to howl
He shares a cell inside my chest with my  heart
And when he wants to escape, that’s when the beating starts.
The two of them beat in rhythm against my rib cage
And flutter and shake with ever growing rage
When they finally get the strength to break free
That’s when everybody needs to look out for me
I’ll swing from the rafters chasing down a good time
Even the sun coming up won’t mark my bedtime
When I finally do run my demon out of steam
And he limps back to his cell to dream
I wear the scars of a good time with pride
And take the hangover that comes in stride

A Quarter In

A quarter is a fortune when you’re young

And the machines at the grocery store hold precious treasure

A quarter once could buy a phone call

Before there was a phone in every purse and pocket to be used at your leisure

A quarter could be saved away

Rolled up and taken to the bank when things got lean

A quarter at the Laundromat

Could get your clothes washed and clean

A quarter in the jukebox

Played fast and slow songs all night

A quarter at a toll booth

Keeps traffic moving along alright

A quarter can be as much or as little as you see fit

For me it means six hours of work, and eighteen more before I quit








Tomato is a Fruit

Down a two lane road

In Southern Alabama

Thousands of seeds are sowed

Before long the vines break the ground
And the sun and rain goes to work
Soon tiny green fruit is all around
The little green fruit swells in the heat
And the vines droop with the weight
Of the finest summertime treat
When the growing stops the fruit turns deep red
And an army of workers will start picking
And across the state folks ready their bread
They drive from everywhere, from miles around.
The boxed tomatoes are lined up for sale
And the tiny town of Slocomb is where they are found
Cars leave loaded with boxes to take back home
Slather the bread in mayo and slice the tomato thin
With pile of potato chips on a plate of styrofoam
Summer doesn’t start without the southern treat
Of the first mater sandwich of the year
A southern delight that’s hard to beat