Grandpa's Chair

Your pudding cakes have made me sick

They're clear as mud or a pocket knife

Let's swim with dad without the wheelchair

I've sunk to the bottom and drown like a brick

These damn hiccups

Are bringing me down

I'm tired of reasons

It's time to fist fight

Old men and women

Sleep in the park

Then young children steal their stuff

Trap beavers in the woods then bring em' home

We can barbecue out back

With some propane gas

Make some room for dessert

We've got plenty of soup

We've got chicken noodle

Or the vegetable beef

Fiberglass

With malted barley selected cereal grains

And the choicest hops for superior taste

I've slipped in the bathtub

Just bring me a towel

Then put my slippers on

Before I freeze to death

Fiberglass