George Hunter Poems

Which is it harder to do
A woman’s mind to understand
Or to drag a whale across the sand?
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I was sitting in the park just biding my time
Trying to think of a topic for my next rhyme.
When this maiden strolled by,
Man she really looked neat
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One night while sleeping in my chair
I met a lass who wasn’t there.
She bent and planted a big wet kiss
Upon my lips, what utter bliss.
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Christmas, Chrisrmas, it’s never free,
Tho I pray to the saints that be.
It’s so sad,
But not all bad.
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It was nineteen hundred and thirty five
And hardly a man is still alive
Who remembers that fateful day and year
When Gee Eff Hunter had his first beer
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Now I lay me down to dream
Know I’ll wake up to a scream.
I have nightmares all the time
Funny that they’re all in rhyme.
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Time to feed Biscuit, the dog.
He’s as happy as a frog on a log.
He likes Atta Boy the best
Over all of the rest.
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I was eating in a diner
Yesterday at noon
Having a bowl of soup
And as I raised my spoon
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It’s said that there are no atheists in foxholes
And that soldiers all pray not to die
But they don’t really believe that lie
That prayer alone will keep them from perdition.
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There was a young lady
From Frisco Bay
Who could never think of
Anything new to say.
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