Stinky Joe
Stinky Joe,
He's my dachsund you know
Rolls on smelly things in the back yard,
And bides his time watching trucks drive by.
He used to be a drummer in a Blues band,
But that was when he was a man.
They wanted him on the streets of New Orleans.
He was caught making eyes at a little Maria.
Before the cops could get him,
Grandma made a potion.
With a little motion,
his heart was a broken.
Forty years, finally dead-
He was reincarnated.
Asked to be a trumpet player
But God placed him here instead.
Now he lies in my back yard,
sunning his belly, four paws in the air.
He's no worse for the weather,
Except he assumes God could've done better-
because each night he howls,
and asks; why Iowa?
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