• The dying sun cast its glow,
    On the pore old man sighing below.
    As the pore old man sat on the grass,
    He drank scotch from his bottle made of glass.
    He had some champagne the other day,
    But someone stole it and took it away.
    He sat there drinking in the blaze,
    But rain clouds came, so he made haste.
    An old newspaper was all he could find,
    It faintly announced the largest ball of twine.
    "The good thing bout' bein' old is nu'thin surprises ya no more"
    Mumbled the man as the wind and his newspaper soared.
    So he hobbled, unshelthered, in the rain,
    He continued through a field of grain.
    "Oh for heaven's sake stop raining already!"
    He wheezed as he sat down by a bed of daisies
    More clouds just came and poured down more water,
    It was starting to flood, but the old man still wander.
    The flood was soon up to his chest,
    Thoroughly soaking his snug old vest.
    Lightning flashed and thunder roared,
    Clouds kept coming in hordes.
    In a flash, it stroke a telephone pole,
    Electric pulsed and took the man's soul.
    He went up to heaven, but got in a row.
    When he yelled at Mary, it hurt her so.
    Down he was sent to the bowels of hell,
    Where Satan and evil things dwelt.
    He sat down beside them and happily said,
    "Boy, this is nice! but everything's red!"