So it is rather a round robin dance of circumstance
That causes this remonstrance
Hey, Mr. President, I am a rhymer, none are much finer.
You can’t confine me or even define me
Because I’m changing my mind all the time in my make-believe world so refined. Playing along to your game of which I am one you can’t tame.
We, the people will remember my name!
My name is Bognetta or Bonita Louise.
I was placed on this earth to try to appease and tickle your thoughts so to tease!
Since sticking me into your box of rule-making, make-believe, or goodness-sake-ing Only leaves me one choice and one speed.
To work towards the voice that I heed.
To say who I am to the world that’s evolved. What do I care? It will always revolve! What is one more voice going to matter in this political game called scatter?
Seems I may be running from myself as the monster at the end of the book Grover,
But even so, at least I am able to sniff the clover.
As I view the advertisements of what I could own,
I remember my age of being fully grown.
I’d already achieved the ‘American Dream’
And high price for the scheme.
The people in their cars don’t look pleased…paying out the nose lest it’s seized.
Nor sitting in traffic almost still, the exhaust and the fumes leave them taking a pill.
The lethargic lifestyle may seem like gravy, but this one pioneer inspired me more,
Think his name was Davy! And what did he cook in his Crockett?
Don’t know, but he gave me a locket.
Which I locked up in a closet of another Davy…Jones.
That I couldn’t keep up with just using my bones.
Well, that’s all I’ve got to say for now and don’t go complaining you’re having a cow! Because all I will say is…at least you’ve found the beef!
And like Charlie Brown, all I can say is ‘Good grief!’