Dig

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!