Southern Valentine's Poem

“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.

Yo're as satisfy'n as okry
jist a-fry'n in the pan.
Yo're 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
yo're there fer yore man,
to patch up life's troubles
and fix what you can.

Yo're 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 yor'e 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!”

“Who said there was no romance left in the world???”

“that's soooooooooooooooo corny...”

“Tilt, you might be able to make use of this somewhere.... shhhhhhh!!”

“Whar ken I fine me a woeman lik that?”

“LMAO”

“You know, I actually wouldn't mind a trolling moter...”

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

{sniff, sniff} - This here diddley sunk right down to mah hert and then wound up at mah tummy {sniff}. You 'ns such a gewd 'scriber, it felt like ya writ that poem juz fer me!!! :)

Here's a diddey back atcha.

If'n I ever meets with yous,
I's be takin' you'n to the trakter pull.
Cause you be pullin' on mah hertstrings, like buddhur can pick at his fiddle.

And If'n we ever meet up for a stroll.
With the rest of you posse, to the forest we'll go.
An you can cook'n me vittles, an share a moon pie or two,
And go fetch wood, my fav-rite campin' ho!

lol!”

“Now just what would one of them upper midwest women know about southern poetry anyway?

;-)”

“y'all means whuts ah uppa miwest wiman knowd abut southren poetree??

LOL! Busted!! OK, so it was sent to me, along with 300 others, from a guy on a photo board.

It sounds like something Idiot Bob would write! Or maybe Bigfoot, but he doesn't do "twang!" lolol”

“Snif sniffle, at-thar pome wuz the luviest thang ah dun ever sawed. Ah dun spilt teers in muh squeezins jar, ah shorely did.”