Remember when you shucked your pants
to escape a horde of big red ants?
You’ll recall your problem did commence
along the road, out fixin’ fence.
You never looked or even thought
when a broken wire caused you to squat.
And little did you know that day
you’d be road kill on an ant highway.
While you were carefully splicing’ wire
a council met and did conspire.
The Ant War Council did decide
to launch attack on cowboy hide.
But, before they scaled your Blucher boots,
they issued a call for more recruits.
The warriors split, and off they went.
They came back leadin’ a regiment.
At least four hundred hostile ants
invaded the space within your pants.
A ticklin’ feelin’ spilled the beans
that you had company in your jeans.
Them little tickles turned to pain.
You squalled like a panther, gone insane.
you let out groans and breathy snorts
When they filtered through your boxer shorts.
You kicked your boots off in the ditch.
You began to buck and wheel and pitch.
There ain’t no words that quite explain
that burnin’ sting, that searin’ pain.
You peeled your jeans, but you weren’t through.
Them boxer drawers, they came off, too.
You brushed and slapped, a squashin’ ants,
shook out your drawers and Wrangler pants.
Then, mostly clad in your birthday suit,
you bent over to grab a boot.
As you looked back between your knees,
you saw a sight that made you freeze.
You couldn’t move, you were frozen still
as that black sedan came down the hill.
And, in your heart of hearts, you knowed
what they were viewin’ from the road.
And then the shock of your entire life
it was Pastor Smith and his lovely wife!
Well, they spun gravel, and off they sped.
You straightened up and raised your head.
There you stood, a wounded creature.
You never meant to moon your preacher!
Now, you take great care where you squat down
and you go to church in another town.
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