And his name was Urban Moore
He helped win the last World War.
He used to speak his mind,
In the Sunday times,
In crank letters to the Editor.
He was a Great Depression boy
Worked a steady job – he never had no toys.
He wore patched-up britches,
Ate lard sandwiches,
In the mill where he was employed.
He later worked in a factory,
Makin’ weiners, olive loaf and bologna.
He married Eleanor,
They made seven little Moores,
Who never knew the meaning of the word hungry.
He hated: Fluoridated water and
A lack of law and order; The ACLU and
The U.N. too. He hated Japanese cars
He wrote letters to the editor for me and you.
Well I met him on the Op-Ed page.
As he was venting all his righteous rage.
Now I read he pushed on
To the great beyond.
And he was buried with his twenty gauge.
Listen to “Urban Moore” at the Marques Bovre Music Hub.
© and ℗ 2000 Marques Bovre