The Ballad Of Vernon Krype
© 2011 by T. Hubbard
Vernon Krype was the man,
He walked proud and tall, though he wasn’t tall at all.
With a 38 close at hand
He rode that copter hard over everybody’s yard.
Sheriff of the county, he flew so far and wide,
And every hippy busted, was listed as his pride.
His authority was given, but peace was not to be found,
In the little pieces of hope they left lying on the ground.
He smiled at every woe, he delivered in the war
That Reagan made on people who don’t want war no more.
There was a sacred mountain, where some magic people grew,
And Vernon was excited, ‘cause the weed was there, he knew.
The women and children hid, as the redneck guns came round,
And one brave soul cried “How Long O Lord?”
as he lay upon the ground.
The sacrament was taken, but that was not the end,
for he also stole the sacred pipe, and the Spirit he did offend.
He was warned of consequence,
and all the donut mongers joked,
they didn’t see the truth of it, for them the truth is cloaked.
One proud, proud morning, Vernon flew into the sun,
They didn’t see the power line,
And poor V never got to use his gun.
And all the hippies prayed, thanking God for their liberty,
And that such a man as Vernon Krype
Should be ended so kharmicly.
So children be hopeful, children be brave,
The only reward for carrying the sword,
Is a sure and certain grave.
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