mhall46184@aol.com
Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco
He sat on the old board fence, his chair of state
All spiffy in his Sunday-pressed khakis
Though he wasn't much for going to church
And his Other Hat, still a farmer’s hat
With his teeth and his workworn, sunburnt hand
(The other hand somehow mislaid in France)
He played the paper and ‘baccy and tag
Into a censer of sacred sweet smoke
And all us little boys watched him in awe
And hoped for the bag with its little string draw
