Tuesday, 24 January 2017

THEM PUSSY GRABBERS: a Presidential poem (after Mason Williams)


How about them pussy grabbers
Ain't no wussies
Gettin around just
Grabbin they pussies

Grabbin them young uns
Grabbin them old
Grabbin lotsa pussies
Takin they hold

Them Presidential pussy grabbers
Walkin down the street
Chompin they tic tacs til
They breath smell sweet

Sayin they TV stars
Really nothin to it
Walkin up to wimmens
Always let em do it

How to be a pussy-grabber?
Wanna take a stab?
Find yourself a pussy
Say 'I'm President!' & grab!


Note: It occurred to me recently that our current President, who may well destroy satire along with the rest of the world, had walked himself right into a Mason Williams Them Poem. Mason Williams, best known for his song Classical Gas, is a multi-talented musician, writer, and stand up comic. He was head writer on The Smother Brothers comedy show, where he conceived the Pat Paulson for President campaign (which seems prescient now), and gave Steve Martin his first break as a writer. He wrote a number of and in 1969 published The Mason Williams Reading Matter, which included a section called 'Them Poems', which were poems that began with them. The most famous was Them Tummy Gummers, which I think became a song, but my favourite was the shortst of them Them poems: Them Hors d'oeuvres (pronounced whores doovers), which I have repeated at countless receptions and parties over the decades. I reprint it below. If I stole Mason Williams' Trumpian thunder in any way, I apologise.

from Them Poems
LII  
Them Hors d'oeuvres 
 
How about Them Hors d'oeuvres,
Ain't they sweet?
Little piece a cheese,
Little piece a meat.

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