I used to do avant-garde dance
With a blowtorch, blue paint, and no pants,
Which many folks guessed
Was genius, and the rest
Left gladly when given the chance.

A barber who lived in Connecticut,
Regardless of whose patron’s head he cut,
Liked to sharpen his shears
And snip off their ears,
A grave violation of etiquette.

A liberal lady of D.C.
By day was tasteful and p.c.
And then after ten
She went out with men
Who were rednecks, vulgar and greasy.
“When it comes to the masculine specie,”
She said, “Believe me, I’m easy,
But liberal guys
Tend to theologize
And I am not St. Clare of Assisi.”

There was an old liberal named Kurt
Who wore his heart on his shirt.
The poor pay of teachers
Or the death of small creatures
Left him shaken and visibly hurt.

A vegan who lives in Seattle
Does not eat fish, fowl, or cattle.
No meat, blood, or bone,
Or greens that were grown
On or nearby a field of battle.

There was an old man quite embittered
By how he had wasted and frittered
His best years away
In listening all day
To reruns of All Things Considered.

There was an old singer of Syracuse
Who was startled to hear his dear accuse
Him of losing his marbles
Cause sometimes he garbles
The words that the writers of a lyric use.

A vegan with nothing to do
Picked up a sandwich to chew
And took a big bite
And cried out in fright,
“OMG! WTF! BBQ!”