My road looks like it's been hewn, hoed;
By a huge herd of bovines toed.
Dry humps have hay that should be mowed.
Drive down it; your struts will explode.
Maybe folks would visit us
If we could smoothly pave this road.

Why don't we smoothly pave this road--
Dried adobe like our abode?
Might be our town would be bistro'd
(WIFI, though, we supply no node)
If tourists came to get a load
(Might break a foot now if they strode)
Now one's got to watch for ruts--
Why don't we smoothly pave this road?

We do not smoothly pave this road
Because our bank account has showed
That no dough into it has flowed
'Cause our abodes are in the pod-
unk, and we've got no commerce,
Just congress with folks too well-knowed. . .

. . .Resulting in some folks twelve-toed;
We got no scholars fit for Rhodes.
Fried roadkill ate ain't served on Spode,*
Neither poke weed that we have growed.
Anyone still glomming this
Must be a masochistic toad.

I will resist inserting "chode"
Into this verse, though rhyming's slowed.
Why don't enough words rhyme with "glowed"?
Bye. End of the road for this ode.
Hope my prof ain't proct'rin' this,
With conjugations such as "knowed."


*fine china