She Smacked Me with a Rubber Violin

I've come to realize my merry disposition

Is a direct result of idiotic intuition,

and by this, of course, I mean to say

I have no idea what I'm doing.

I find it funny I can whistle

To signal dear Miss Fortune's dissmissal,

She seems to leave when I begin.

She must not like my singing.

I think it's noble I can cook

At least for the boys down by Debty's brook,

And while they don't have satin or lace

They seem to like my PB & Js.

I know it's sweet I can tally,

And I thank school for this, really.

When I discovered today was her 78th,

I ran down to the bakr'y for a birthday cake.

                                                Her favorite flavor and custard were easy to find

                                                But the candles I needed were of too many designs

                                                She wouldn't like stripes,

                                               And I find dots too showy.

She told me it was absurd I prepared it for her,

But I saw the tears in her eyes.

She laughed and we ate and we stayed up too late

Boy, she sure does love Sir Prize.

I appreciate those boys down at Debty's brook.

They keep good compn'y when Miss Fortune doesn't overlook

The unyeilding track of time.

78 she deemed too late.

I remember the days she'd wait for me

With her delicious PB & Js.

I'm glad I shared her recipe

because Debty's boys now wait for me,

                      And today's my 78th.