Part Run

The rural roads are dusty
It must be time to plant
The soil’s kinda crusty
The rows run at a slant
The breakdowns soon disgust me
I foam and fume and rant
A trip to town it must be
Where’s whiskey to decant
A couple shots adjust me
I become compliant
But before long I’m lusty
Looking for applicant
My technique may be rusty
It’s too late to recant
I pick a beauty busty
Wearing a skirt so scant
I tell the girl to trust me
I’m trying to enchant
Her big bright blue eyes bust me
Her reply I just can’t

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