Go West, Man—No Matter How Old You Think You Are

or,

The Grass Is Greener, Even If It's Blue

or,

If You Don't Catch Cold, You'll Catch-22

I'm moving to Kentucky
Cuz the folks out there are lucky
Cuz THEY were in the 70s last weekend.
They all rode upon their horses
(In blue grasses there, of courses)
As Indian Summer sunshine brightly beaconed.

I know, because my brother—
With a gloat he couldn't smother—
Told me, when I wished him birthday greetings.
Told me, too, of songs of larks,
Fall-time foliage in the parks,
And of (boring) out-of-doors committee meetings.

But here, sun can't be found,
And the larks, they all have drowned,
And the foliage just falls in soggy flakes;
And the latest that I'm hearing
Is that Old Man Winter's nearing—
The good news there is, never mind the rakes.

We've but one nice day yearly
(And for that one, we pay dearly),
But we all suspect Kentuckians of theft;
Cuz that day comes from the west,
So they get it at its best—
And then send along to us whatever's left.

So I envy those Kentuckians—
Yessir, cuz they're the lucky 'uns—
I could weather any storm in ol' Kentuck;
So I'm packing my accoutrements
And planning my uprootrements—
If the weather would improve, I'd load the truck.

                                                                —Kentuck A. Mouse

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