Pants full of crackers and a gander hung in chains round the neck
Making moy rounds with a jacker and a pocketbook around my unemployment check
I'll search for some busy work both above and below the spans of the earth
To make myself worth and not enough of my time to eat and fill my girth
Perhaps I'll set myself to some kind of brightly painted plow and churn the soil
Mending the earth is what i know with my overgrown fingers and mind all a'boil