John F. McCullagh
The Rolling Cones - Poem by John F. McCullagh
You hear their siren song in the air,
before you ever see the truck.
If it is “The Rolling Cones”
then my friend, you are in luck.
Where Mister Softee use to be
an old bald man down on his luck,
“The Rolling Cones” have sweet young things
Make sexy sundaes in a cup.
These ice cream ladies sell the wares
while wearing frilly bustiers.
Men of a certain age all troupe
to wave their dollars for two scoops.
Curves and ice cream swirls can be
Sexy, yes, but not obscene,
It’s a profitable duopoly.
They use hot babes to sell ice cream.
To differentiate their trucks
From the topless coffee vendor “Cups”
They needed a name all their own
That’s why they’re called “The Rolling Cones”
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