Flying For Fish...
It's Fryday night,
For a boy from Cheeseland,
No time for beer and brats,
That's Saturday afternoon,
Don'tchya kno,
Bring me all that crispy gold,
Like my Mom's days of old,
On a plate with tartar and lemon,
And make no bones,
About it,
It's Fryday night,
And,
I'm flying for fish.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 05/24/2024