Saturday, June 18, 2011


Simple little word, dee-eye-gee,
Yet it sure gets a lot of work.
It’s not for me to reason why,
But dig I must.
Dig out the rhythm, dig out the rhyme,
Gonna dig those syllables till the day I die,
Gotta dig or bust

But when I hear “Dig” I’m reminded
Today I’m as old as dirt,
Which by the way
Is what gravediggers dig,
And is a little too close, if you ask me,
When I count my days.

Dig takes me back to my long lost youth,
For dig was essential to express a truth,
Do you dig it, daddy-o?
Do you dig that chick?
It was cool man, do you dig?

But coming in between then and now
We had to dig ditches; we had to lift bails,
To keep digging out of debt.
Sometimes you dug in against a storm.
Sometimes you dug a trench to fight a war.
Sometimes you just danced cause you dug the score.
No regret.
I’m digging yet..

And when I die,
You can dig my grave with a silver spade
And don’t play no stinkin’ dirges.
Play something I can dig!

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