Smallish City Late-Winter Anthems
It's a really nasty mess around the Smallish City. Or Schity, as I have taken to calling it, due to the rapidly revealing crimes of sociopathic dog owners who have been letting their puppies crap on snow banks all winter without picking up after them. Anyway, it's just grim. All winter things get progressively dirtier, the infrastructure progressively crumbles... the darkest hour, so to speak, is just before dawn/spring. And you start to wonder if things will ever get lovely again.
Lying awake in the grey dawn, I composed a couple lyrical alterations to form Smallish City Late-Winter Anthems. You probably know the tunes. Come, sing along!
--------------------------
I.
Of thee I sing, Schity!
Winter winter winter (spring?), Schity!
You're my frozen trash heap,
You're my road salt stew;
There's a weak sun melting
Your frozen doggie doo.
Of thee I sing, Schity!
You have got that icy thing, Schity!
Slush pools at clogged sewer grates,
Worthy of a Smallish State-
Of thee I sing!
-------------------------
II.
My Schity, 'tis of thee,
Froze'd banks of doggie pee,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my batt'ry died,
Potholes on every side,
Frost heaves your wheels' demise
Let freedom ring!
My native Schity, thee,
Land of the road sand scree,
Thy view I loathe.
I curse thy rocks and grime,
Thy bitter black ice rime;
I'll say it just one time:
Spring better come.
Lying awake in the grey dawn, I composed a couple lyrical alterations to form Smallish City Late-Winter Anthems. You probably know the tunes. Come, sing along!
--------------------------
I.
Of thee I sing, Schity!
Winter winter winter (spring?), Schity!
You're my frozen trash heap,
You're my road salt stew;
There's a weak sun melting
Your frozen doggie doo.
Of thee I sing, Schity!
You have got that icy thing, Schity!
Slush pools at clogged sewer grates,
Worthy of a Smallish State-
Of thee I sing!
-------------------------
II.
My Schity, 'tis of thee,
Froze'd banks of doggie pee,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my batt'ry died,
Potholes on every side,
Frost heaves your wheels' demise
Let freedom ring!
My native Schity, thee,
Land of the road sand scree,
Thy view I loathe.
I curse thy rocks and grime,
Thy bitter black ice rime;
I'll say it just one time:
Spring better come.
posted by Turbo at 6:43 AM
1 Comments:
i didn't want you to think your song wasn't funny just because no one else posted a comment. i chuckled several times, partly because i went to college in your city and know how yucky it can get in the winter. hang in there. spring is almost upon us. btw, have you ever considered writing limericks? i think you'd have a real knack for them. i look forward to visiting here again.
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