I just don't know what makes folks go each day,
What gets them out of bed each morning,
Seems to make them so okay
With each new day they see aborning.
A cup a joe, there's no getting through
The day without the bean that's in it.
There's no race without a cup or two.
It takes a caffeine high to win it.
The way they take each day by the horns
Or by the tail and stare it in the face,
Ignore their aching arches and their corns,
Stake all they own upon the race.
I don't know how they get around
To paying all their debts and dues,
How they can keep from feeling down
From thinking what they've got to lose.
How they find time to comb and floss and brush
Their hair, their teeth, a pair of shoes,
To pick the proper tie. In such a rush
How do they find the time to choose
Twixt yellow, blue, or black—what goes
With regimental stripe or polka dot.
Perhaps a pink to match the rose
They wear in their lapel. Which knot
To tie, which pair of hose to wear,
Which pair to not, which one will go
With all the rest, to know which pair
Of pants go better with the status quo.
They do their duty, man, when called they go,
Do all they can do to belong.
They learned it from the clan an age ago--
To rime and scan, to get along.
2012 mar 14 15 17 sat d fulgham