Hezster's boots brought to you by:
| Such lovely boots I have upon my feet
Of leather, tho they do not smell so sweet. They are not green, nor are they red as beet Instead they are of brown like golden wheat. To wear them, I do ponder, is a treat, But I proclaim they make an awful seat. The creature they are from can give us meat And graze upon a field where grey birds tweet. I'm lucky, for my boots have rubber sole, And they are still without a single hole. I can wear then to a grassy knoll, And also I could climb a wooden pole! They would not fit a tiny little mole; I would not dare to put them on a foal. With them I could walk upon hot coal, And in them I may tell of days of ole. Yes, I be gay with boots that fit so well To keep my feet dry wand'ring down to Hell, Or up to Heav'n, to learn the tales I tell To lift your spirits ere they ever fell. In my boots, perhaps I'd ring a bell, Or sing about a charming little dell. One thing for sure, I could arise and yell, "'Tis certain of these boots, they I'll not sell." |