XXVIII.
The Ballad of Buford O. Furrow.

61.
Let me sing you a tale
Let me spread you the news
Of Buford O. Furrow
Who liked to shoot Jews.

His national purity
Shone from his face:
He was with assurity
Best of his Race.

A man whose nobility
Glowed from each haunch
With stately mobility
Slowed down by his paunch.

In line with Sam Adams
And patriot right-guys,
Took arms against troubles
Like all hero white-guys.

He said, “Let me think
How best to show vigor—”
His finger slid out
Of his nose to his trigger.

He showed up for picnics
And dressed in his Blues,
He guarded his buddies
In Wehrmacht tattoos.

What joy to be part of
This virtuous clan!
It made him a god-like
Superior Man.

“My body is perfect
(at least underneath)
I look like Adonis –
I have 20 teeth.

“I speak using umlauts
On all of my vowels;
I eat fries and burgers:
I’ve regular bowels.

“That makes me a Aryan,
(Though I can’t spell it),
But all in my presence
Have told me they smell it.

“Let’s wake up, Amurica!
You’ve all become weak!
Half of your people
Your language don’t speak!

“My homeland, America!
How can you do this—
Letting in furriners!
I’ll get you through this!”

So Buford decided
(By scratching his head)
That nothing makes news
Like somebody dead.

“But I have to choose targets
That show off my bravery.
Slay dragons, to rescue
Some damsel from slavery!

“I’ll shoot some degenerates!
Robbers and mafia!
I’ll show all them off-shore guys
Bang! Just how tough they are! But—

“Whoa! not guys who’d be armed!
Not soldiers, or druggies…
They’d shoot! I’d be harmed!
How ’bout babies in Huggies?

“Yeah,” his mouth watered,
“That’s safe. I could boast then
Of dropping some kids
And maybe a postman.”

His head wobbled wisely ,
Relieved that this plan
Aligned with his principles –
Here was a man!

In a matter of minutes
He loaded his van
With plenty of arms
To carry the plan.

He looked at his weapon
With fondness, as though
The barrel was part of his
Penis, or Toe.

And thought, ‘what a powerful
Lever, this trigger.
Obeying my will to shoot
Deer, Jew, or Nigger.

‘They all are the same
The gun doesn’t care!
And neither do I
We’re a match! We’re a pair!”

So Buford heard children
Reciting their lessons.
And bravely confronted them
Like stalking fierce pheasants.

“This A-B-C stuff
Is the bunk! I can’t do it!”
He said, ‘but I’ll show you!
There’s nothing much to it.”

So just like a child, pop!
Pop! Buford sprayed lead
And gleefully watched
As he hoped they’d all play dead.