My Shorts


The wife says my pants are too long.
I tell her she’s got it all wrong.
My jeans are meant to be this way,
Come workin’ time or for play.

She says a shorter size I could fit,
And a smaller size I should get.
But I know they need come down
Over my boots an’ near the ground.

For longer legs I did dream
Of addin’ more to my inseam.
They drag along in the dust,
But drag along they must.

“It’s proper dress,” I say.
She just says, “No way!”
“For if they don’t,” I retorts,
“It’s jus’ like a-wearin’ shorts!”

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