Cock

Cock

 

A man for all spreadsheets

and we’re not talking Picnics, Hampton Wicks,

spread legs or the silken pricks

of very small wood splinters

heaven knows that I speak true,

or I’ll die as I stand here today.

A disappointing spin-off theme that plays

in pale imitation,

where The Virginian was bold,

your Man from Shiloh left us cold

and longing for Casey Jones

and his thunderous Cannonball Express.

You got yourself all rosined up

for a Devil Came Down to Georgia,

but there was no mighty hiss,

no fiddle of gold, no contest.

and here comes my 19^th nervous breakdown,

at Portland there’s a shakedown,

trying out rigging for operational readiness,

hold hard, sir, hold steady,

because she used to love you,

but it’s all over now

and this could be the last time, but I don’t know.

Less Charlie Daniels, more Charlie Brown,

you Little Red Rooster

all high fives, fist bumps, my man, bud, dude, bro,

and half a crown full of Snow-White teeth,

that can’t get me no satisfaction or relief,

but that’s a dab hand

with a spreadsheet,

just fill it in with ticks or crosses

on imposter syndromes and cut your losses.