Redneck Valentine Poem

by Dianne

        Collards is green,
        my dog's name is Blue
        and I'm so lucky
        to have a sweet thang like you.

        Yore hair is like cornsilk
        a-flapping in the breeze.
        Softer than Blue's
        and without all them fleas.

        You move like the bass,
        which excite me in May.
        You ain't got no scales
        but I luv you anyway.

        Yore as satisfy'n as okry
        jist a-fry'n in the pan.
        Yore as fragrant as "snuff"
        right out of the can.

        You have some'a yore teeth,
        for which I am proud;
        I hold my head high
        when we're in a crowd.

        On special occasions,
        when you shave under yore arms,
        well, I'm in hawg heaven,
        and awed by yore charms.

        Still them fellers at work,
        they all want to know,
        what I did to deserve
        such a purdy, young doe.

        Like a good roll of duct tape
        yore there fer yore man,
        to patch up life's troubles
        and fix what you can.

        Yore as cute as a junebug
        a-buzzin' overhead.
        You ain't mean like those far ants
        I found in my bed.

        Cut from the best cloth
        like a plaid flannel shirt,
        you spark up my life
        more than a fresh load of dirt.

        When you hold me real tight
        like a padded gunrack,
        my life is complete
        ain't nuttin' I lack.

        Yore complexion, it's perfection,
        like the best vinyl sidin'
        despite all the years,
        yore age, it keeps hidin'.

        Me 'n' you's like a Moon Pie
        with a RC cold drank,
        we go together
        like a skunk goes with stank.

        Some men, they buy chocolate
        for Valentine's Day.
        They git it at Wal-Mart,
        it's romantic that way.

        Some men git roses
        on that special day
        from the cooler at Kroger.
        "That's impressive," I say.

        Some men buy fine diamonds
        from a flea market booth.
        "Diamonds are forever,”
        they explain, suave and couth.

        But for this man, honey,
        these won't do.
        Cause yore too special,
        you sweet thang you.

        I got you a gift,
        without taste nor odor,
        more useful than diamonds...
        IT'S A NEW TROLL'N MOTOR!!