Drinking Up That Weekend Moonshine Poem by Paul Amrod

Drinking up that weekend moonshine
Tipping glasses for a good time
Remember last September
Shakin' rollin' and fiddlin'
Call up the next dosey doe
Building a bridge through the line
Quadrille starts the square dance
with a twostep groove a-riddlin'
In the brush we found a groundhog
helping us to please a member.
Struttin' through the wet logs
and prancing to the rodeo
while Shorty is always whittlin'
a stick and a stone in a trance.
He's washing his ears with bee wax
to secure his thoughts to surrender.
The flask is filled for the afterglow
The farmer is fixed and twiddling
his thumbs in utter wonder
while the pumpkin blows his sax
listenin' above and under.
All the neighbors come to Charlie
She is the madam with the barley
In the bottom of the silo
says the milkman me o my o
There lies the black schnapps
up to two-hundred proof.
Ready to blow off your proverbial roof
Thinking up a new concoction
better than a gypsy's option.
It's water for my mistress
twitchin' bitchin' not middlin'.
Keepin' all undercover unless
the cops are bought with hops
and cease their pressure and stress.
Messin' up the town fair auction
Had a bit too much potent potion
till the entire field became an ocean.
What a tasty brew we brethren have got
Keepin' the lid on the boilin' pot
Playin' with your mind it's just a goof
Being foolhardy and quite aloof
My reverie in winter serves me well
Ring the Christmas and New Year bell
Waiting for the sun to give us proof
that soon we all will surely undress.
Yes with blossom and springtime
the autumn is just a memory.
We toil the fields with our energies
planting again our corn seed.
Soon will be our summertime
when we are cookin' deeply inside.
Drinking up daddio's red wine
but it is never ever as fine
as our autumnal fermentation.
The highly coveted and magical Moonshine
We whistle away our meager needs
because soon arrives sweet harvest time.
Fire will burn again in my brain
This lightning doesn't bring the rain
After swingin' I got a cramp and a pain
Diddle Dee said I should fiddle fum
Perhaps smelling the blood of an Englishman
The beanstalk flourished into the sky
as the crickets chirped summer goodbye.
Oh! Mercy lookin' forward to golden autumn
Then comes the gift of colors
Each leaf is expressing splendor
With the cooling of the night air
we feel no worry or despair.
Easing our aching working bones
Now is the harvest blue vacation
The Golf may spring a sudden cyclone
to frighten the geese and gander
who wish to fly and then meander
into the Antarctic sensation.
Pleasantly smug and quite aware
we will feel a bright elation
Swigging the jug and passing it on
Closing our party without a care
With the last joyful laughs and moans
we bless our lustful congregation
We thank Demeter and do declare
our gratitude for this scrumptious homegrown.