Singing Soil Mayor

He kicks up his ass

Together with big heavy axe

To gather the pig heaveaner

To the pick-up near;

Watches his cutlass

Where the clutch's last

Wheel bid pass

A hill to be past

Of the scorn, O!

Longing how long his hoe

Will lounge now the oak

Tree dressed, a plant the owl

Love to clench and pray

Long on its clergy prey.

Although the rain is just gone,

All doubts may have ruin what's done

Lest not the Sun will rise

And shine into the field

But no grain of rice

Because there is no yield;

Thinking all these more,

A Singing Soil Mayor.

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