I hail from Butte, Montana;
Although Bob, Louisiana,
Is the place I go when winter catches cold.
As Faribault, Minnesota,
And Fort Pierre, South Dakota,
Suit me better when the walleyes hit and hold.
'Buy land! ' Sam Clem advised me,
'Cause they've stopped the making of it.'
So I'm carting bags of dixies off to France,
To buy Mexico, the new;
Because the old, Spain beat me to-
Grabbed it all before the Frenchies had a chance.
Or maybe Bonaparte can
Take a slice of Arkansas and
Let me have it for real cheap, or less; let's hope.
I'd settle for Alberta-
Canada is not a bad place-
Or Saskatchewan's resplendent glacier slope.
Monroe bought Oklahoma-
He and Jefferson- Missouri,
Colorado, bits of Texas, Kansas too,
Napolean's North Dakota;
Des Moines, Iowa; Lyons, Nebraska-
Only three cents per acre! Merci beaucoup!
Bordeaux, Fontenelle, Dubois,
Dunoir, La Barge, La Grange, Lamont-
All Wyoming sold but not New Orleans' port.
So maybe I'll just buy that-
Fishing's good enough I reckon,
In a port, if you know what you're looking for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem