Apologies to Kenny Chesney for using his tune for “She thinks my tractors sexy”

She thinks dried paint is sexy
On my face and arms
No projects are ever finished
Anywhere on this farm.

I can’t believe she tolerates the undone mess
She has no place to hang a single shirt or dress
She’s even kind of crazy ‘bout this poor dirt farm
Cause she can raise her chickens in the old tin barn
I open up a bucketful of indoor paint
I brush it on until my arms just cain’t
There’s more to do than one man can ever finish
The repair list doesn’t ever seem to diminish

Thank gawd she thinks dried paint is sexy
On my face and arms
I stumble thru the clutter
Piled up in both the barns

You’d never know that we were once city sophisticates
When you see that we have to go thru two cattle gates
The cows get in anyway and eat our plants
And now it looks like we can’t grow anything but ants
I’m sure I’ll get it organized one day soon
And when she sees it she will probably swoon.
I wish I shared her rosy view of the country life
I’d never work this hard for anyone but my wife

But she thinks dried paint is sexy
And the work to her is fun
She’s optimistic that
One day we will be done.

Bad Poet’s Society introduction:

I have been writing travel stories for a few years now on my blog:  your intrepid traveler.blogspot.com.   Traveling for business kept me busy, and I visited over 30 countries during a span of just a few years.  But due to security reasons and my laziness, I have foregone most travel.  I still work, but don’t go overseas unless I have to.  So, my good travel stories have dried up.  But I still like to be creative, so I have launched this blog to show the world that there is a bad poet in each of us.  My bad poetry takes perfectly good songs and changes the words to fit my own brand of humor.   You can be the judge if this is bad poetry or not.  I feel certain you will share my opinion.  I welcome comments and your own bad poetry.  After all, I cannot be expected to fill the world’s need for bad poetry.  I am only one man.