Still scowling black
Good Captain Clack
Must eat his humble pie
His bed is made
The colors fade
His eyes once wet are dry

The naked muse
Who sits and chews
Tobacco off a tree
Removes his shoes
Gives way to booze
And searches endlessly

See the naked lumberlack
Sip his aphrodisiac
Cotton-picking farmers three
Though I lost my weather vane
And of sense I have one grain
I'm content sipping lemon tea