Thousands of raw acres
of prime South Texas land.
Mesquite, minimal water,
Fossils, fences and sand.
It’s a place to raise cattle,
With horsepower and sweat.
You can become wealthy,
It’s just not how to bet.
From the thousands of acres
Generations sliced off their share.
One ranch became ranches,
But nobody seemed to care.
The pastures were a man’s world,
There were no girls allowed.
There were many disappointments,
Some best not said out loud.
When I first visited the ranch,
It stretched as far as I could see.
Someone said, “That’s nothin’, son”.
“This used to reach to Uvalde.”
One by one, they moved to town,
It’s where they all belonged.
This could have been the King Ranch,
If they could have got along.
Vacation at last has started.
We’ve finally left upon our trip.
The Captain saw my wife’s luggage,
“We’re gonna need a bigger ship.”
I’m not that fond of Miami,
But it’s where the ships all live.
They won’t sail up to Dallas,
No matter how much I give.
We’re off to Barcelona,
I’ve never been to Spain.
(But I kinda like the music.)
That song is quite a pain.
See you in a couple weeks,
We’ll be sailing across the sea.
I’ll be thinking of you always.
Don’t have meetings without me!
Vacation Day is like Christmas Day.
It changes as you age.
When you’re young, excitement.
When you’re older, stress and rage.
Where is the camera?
What’s in this bag?
Where’s the pet sitter?
Stop your crying jag!
Where is the taxi?
Isn’t it late?
I’m not ready yet.
I don’t feel so great.
Do we have everything?
What did we forget?
Who’s feeding Mom?
I don’t recall who lost the bet.
I’m almost ready.
Just one more conference call.
Go ahead and start loading.
I’ll be right with y’all.
Close the taxi door.
At last we are away.
Did you transfer all our savings?
Because now we start to pay.
Hey! I’m not hyperventilating.
I’m starting to unwind.
Stress is dissolving.
Real life is off my mind.
Did you turn the coffee pot off?
This isn’t my prescription.
I need more of this drug.
This paperwork is last year’s.
I don’t get a jar, I get a jug.
My insurance covers this.
Why do you charge so much?
I think you ran it wrong.
Do you think we’re going Dutch?
This is pure insanity.
Why do I wait so long?
When I smoked pot in college,
My dealer never got it wrong.
Slide on over, baby.
Slide on over slow.
We’re about to miss our exit.
I don’t know where to go.
Move on over, baby.
Move on over fast.
There’s a tanker truck a comin’
I’m fixin’ to get passed.
Drive on over, baby.
Drive on to this song.
I’ve never seen such traffic.
It’s rush hour all day long.
Roll on over, baby.
You know my heart’s on fire.
There’s a pothole in the roadway,
And I’m about to lose a tire.
Glide on over, baby.
Glide on ’til you see.
There’s a thousand cars around here,
They’re all aiming straight at me.
Speed on over, baby.
Speed up as you drive.
I saw a sign back over,
That says go sixty-five.
Look on over, baby.
Look across your dash.
There’s a bunch of angry people.
They must have had a crash.
Slide on over, baby.
Slide on to arrive.
By the time they finish building,
I’ll be too old to drive.
The definition of “early” should be
A picture of a sleeping dog,
With one eye opened (barely),
Looking up as you get out of bed,
And thinking “You’re kidding, right?”
I hate early morning meetings.
I really hate those early meetings
That I fight rush-hour traffic to attend,
Only to find they aren’t actually happening.
People would be violently punished,
But I’m too tired to move.
I think they know this, otherwise,
The meeting would have happened.
How was your weekend?
Ready for the meeting?
Ugh. I need coffee first.
Ready for the executive visit?
Is that this week? Nooooo!
How is the report coming?
I have to get off the phone, first.
You know it’s top priority.
Along with sixteen other items.
Just try to get it done today.
Along with sixteen other items.
Ready for lunch?
I’m ready for a martini.
Can we go early? I have a meeting.
Will New York ever learn we’re not all on their time zone?
Of course not. They’re idiots.
Don’t say that too loud.
I may call it a day a bit early.
Me, too. I have to pick up the kids.
I have to pick up the laundry.
Yours is lighter! Ha ha ha!
Wow, save some jokes for Tuesday.
You never had a sense of humor.
See you tomorrow.
Not if I see you first.
Stop it! I’m not in the mood.
I hope you’re less cranky tomorrow.
Don’t forget the executive visit.
Sunday is a day for family.
Time to spend together, chilling.
This is why God invented wine.
It’s to help prevent the killing.
It’s a time to recall old stories.
Reenact them with force.
Reopen some old wounds.
Then, the pasta course.
I’m not sure the term for
A loud, three-way argument.
There’s the same mutual respect
As in the Houses of Parliament.
There’s lots of good food,
So many emotions to tap.
After eating and discussing,
There may be time for a nap.
Sleep with one eye open.
A birthday party is for the young,
When you discuss hopes and dreams.
As you get older, the topics change,
To aches and pains and schemes.
Somewhere about that special time,
A person gets his first real job,
Much of the magic disappears.
As work makes your head throb.
“What are you going to be when you grow up?”
Is a happy question, full of hope.
“Is this what you’re doing the rest of your life?”
Just doesn’t have the same scope.
Also, the toys get much more expensive,
So, the gifts just aren’t as nice.
Eventually, you don’t get toys at all.
You get petty cash or just advice.
A youngster gets his first bike,
And the world becomes his yard.
An old fart gets a generous check,
And thinks, “Pay off Visa or MasterCard?”
Eventually, you discuss deaths.
Remembering the deceased is so much fun.
When the only party guests are family,
You begin to think you’re almost done.
A birthday party for an old fart
Is just a dinner party with cake.
The cake may be sugar or gluten-free,
But, at least you get some cake.