no mail today
nobody calls
too cold to play
outside these walls

nothing written
worth a damn
just a-sittin’
nothin’ planned

what’d they say
’bout idle hands
the devil plays
I understand

inspiration
missing, too
I guess I’ll do
the boogaloo

eat pistachios
play guitar
my moustachio’s
grown so far

comb and wax it
twirl it too
they wanna tax it
wouldn’t you?

brush the kitty
stop a sneeze
end this ditty
finish, please!