state of confusion
A Glimpse of The Rare Toe (genus homotoeus)
He’s highly exotic, a rare species of the south,
usually sleepin’ beneath Magnolia trees,
or looking for trouble, he’s got a big mouth,
fightin’ in a bar, or just shootin’ the breeze.
But then he disappears, for days and days it seems,
we all get worried, ‘cuz he’s the last of his breed,
is he searching for that perfect girl, by the slipstream,
heard he was at Mardi Gras, sportin’ purple beads.
Then he suddenly appears, like he’s never left the scene,
slippin’ in the room with a wry grin and a beer,
The female species start a swoonin’ like a dream,
and he thrusts his repartee at his old friend Balladder.
He kinda grows on ya, this rare old cocky bird,
yeah, they threw away the mold when they made Toe,
and we find ourselves hangin’ onto his every word,
Just stick around this time, hell, you got time to blow!