EAT THE GRASS

by Arthur Smid

Just now lying down,
In the grass, sick as a dog,
Now baby, eat the grass.

We’re gonna eat the grass.
Rice, barley, millet, and wheat.
Oatmeal’s in the pot, we make it sweet.

It’s sugar cane, like a candy apple.
That’s cinnamon with drum sticks beating
In your hungry mouth. Eat the grass.

The four-leggeds don’t need to ask.
They bow their heads and eat the grass.
Rice, barley, millet, and wheat.

It makes you hop.
It makes you weep.
We’re gonna eat the grass.

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