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

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