To Anna from Pa

To Anna – From Her Pa

Time with my daughter Anna warms the soul like good soup. It’s healing, when needed. Every spoonful is savored. I’ve never known anyone like her.

My baby girl, my Sweet Pea, what a gal! Always on the go with a smile, a walk with a skip and reaching out to help whoever she can. I only asked God that my children have big hearts. Got that and so very, much more!

Where does she find the energy? You’ll find the answer on her bedroom walls. Written in crayon, 8x10 sheets taped here and there, are verses from Corinthians. Verses from Corinthians fuel her soul.

Also adorning her walls are drawings from ‘her kids’. Any child Anna has worked with at Day Care, taught in Bible school or just reached out to, become one of ‘her kids’!

She inspires and mentors many, including old Pa here. I like to think I instilled some good qualities in Anna, but her influence and example has helped make ME a better person. God probably figured I needed real special help!

I love her and burst with pride seeing her accomplishments. And that’s a whole bunch of love and pride. Lucky me, fantastically blessed with two amazing children!

We’re never shy to say it either and I’ll not be shy now. Anna, you’re still my baby girl and I love you!
Pa.

Veteran's Day Eve

Guess I couldn't wait for actual Veteran's Day. Maybe just a warm-up of remembrance, remembering four years of life I gave, hits every year. Just a volunteer thing, no war, on the tail end of Viet Nam, mixed in with folks who "didn't ask to be here".

Guess I couldn't wait, to have a Jag and a beer like in Germany thirty years ago. Those Army buds and I bonded strong, being halfway across the world, thirty minutes from being rolled over by the Ruskies, our only purpose to SLOW DOWN the Ruskies if they attacked. Always great to have a purpose in life!

These are my life-long friends.

So I had some Jag and beer and it sure tasted good! What the heck. Happy Vet's Day to you all. Have a virtual Jag with me and smile!

RS

Cold Wet Leaves

When rain removes the crispness of fall leaves, it's rain that has fallen on my harvest parade. Refuge indoors with chili, soup and other kitchen activities will help warm me. Need a bit of furnace, too. Sweatshirts. Flannel shirts. Fleece blankets. All in play.

Time with my son warms the soul like good soup. He'll be off to college next year, so remaining time is treasured. Busy as he is, this scatters that. Sundays are fun, with the Vikings on TV, volume down, and Paul Allen on the radio, volume up! He is the master! TV announcers are pitifully bland.

Kitchen radio seems more appreciated this time of year. Garrison Keillor is back at it, slowed none by a minor stroke. Prepping that Saturday night meal, cutting board positioned front row to my tuck-under-the-cupboard radio, is so very pleasant.

Friendship trumps chill. I enjoy my network of friends on the John Prine Shrine, lovable goofballs who are a joy to e-speak with. And sometimes we actually meet!

My circle of locals friends are special in that we manage to avoid negative conversation. Some of us are self-proclaimed mighty hunters. The turkeys and deer might dis-agree! Our bunch has taken to fly-fishing, too. Wading in the Root river, water rippling, trying to position that fly just right in the pool which might contain a trophy, is a big chug of relaxation.

Those leaves will dry eventually. Hope to burn a few. Ooo that smell!

The year races by.

Jonas Brothers - yucky poo

I have a Burger King right across the street from work. I'm fond of their breakfast specials. But my entrance to there finds the walls plastered with Jonas Brothers stuff. Posters everywhere! Hard on the appetite. Haven't puked yet, but could happen. They were on Conan O'Brian's Tonight Show tonight. How shallow. Conan, how could you stoop so low!

**At this point, Rumbleshorts chose to edit previous comments that were posted by his evil twin brother. That twin is once again locked up in the basement and we hope he will not see the light of day again!

Talking with Dad - 1999

Talking with Dad

Two years ago, my Dad was losing a long, crummy, battle with cancer, dying at home in a rented hospital bed. His bed was in the addition on the East side of our house where the sun could shine in through big windows every morning. That’s how he knew it was morning. He lived on tubes for months, until, one day, he gathered us together for one last act as head of the family. He said it was time to remove those tubes.

I gave the eulogy at his funeral; he asked me to because I was a Toastmaster. And I did good for him. I did the very, best I could for him. I remember the last line… “next year Grandma Erna is going to have her best garden ever, because every day Grandpa is going to shine down upon it.”

Mom continued to live in that house. For strength and healing, she embraced her circle of friends from church. And we’d come up to visit. Sometimes stay the night. She loves a houseful of kids! The more noise the better. Even at night… when everybody snores! And sometimes, I’d sleep down in that addition where Dad died.

I’m expecting a visit, I guess. I’d like to see him again. There’s so much we could talk about, not that we ever did. Maybe he’d yell at me for still smoking(God knows somebody should)! I can hear him now, “I quit cold turkey when I was your age!” Yeah, and it still killed ya thirty years later. Certainly we could find something better to talk about than that! I mean, after all, we are Minnesota sports fans.

“Darn Vikings! Stupid Twins! But hey… how about that Tom Lehmann?” Dad always liked Tom Lehmann because they were both from Alexandria, Minnesota. The only reason he would watch golf was to see if Tom Lehmann was on top of the leader board.

Even if I saw Dad and he said nothing at all, just smiled, well, just seeing him smile again would be pretty darn nice.

The grandkids would love to be part of this visit. Grampa was such a funny guy with them. He’d say “2 + 2 = 22” and they’d laugh, scream and protest “no, no grampa!” It was his granddaughter, my daughter Anna, who helped me cry out every last tear the day he died.

How stupid not to talk while we’re both still able! Shouldn’t that be a precious moment in every day?

We did have our memories. Dad used to pitch baseballs to Harmon Killebrew and Tony Oliva. I was Harmon and my brother was Tony O. He never did take his turn. He only pitched. We tore the hide off the ball! We fished and we camped. He worked, we played.

He really did quite a bit for us kids. And maybe now, I’m just being selfish. I want more. Maybe now that he’s gone, it’s easier to talk.

We’re going to my Mom’s this weekend. We’ve got a lot to talk about. It’s precious. And at night, well, the kids and I… we’ll sleep in the addition.

**Dedicated with love from Mark to his Dad… Morrie Sannes.

Father's Day Eve

Lucky me. A long fine day filled with time for both Jim and Anna.

Anna and I migrated north this morning so she could be in the Four Mile Run in Farmington. Hey, that rhymes.

Four mile run,
In Farmington,
My baby girl,
She got it done.
Middle of the pack,
Was a darn good finish,
Guess she must've,
Been eatin' her spinach!

And we returned home from a wonderful morning. While catching some zzzzzssss on the recliner, I realized the MN Twins had a night game. Jim and I are ravid fans, to put it mildly, and decided to attend the game on the spur of the moment.

We used to hit maybe 6-8 games a season, but his schedule of good stuff has made that more of a challenge. Today worked though. North again! We got the good old cheap seats. The Twins provided four home runs, the most special being Joe Maurer's patented blast to left center, two rows up. Just enough! Twins fell short on the score, but it was a good pa and son time.

I understand we may see the movie UP tomorrow at the Kasson State Theatre. Three bucks for matinee! And Dad will try to cook a good Father's Day supper.

I'm a lucky guy. There is no task too great to do for these wonderful kids!

Fishing instead of mowing the lawn

My lawn needed mowing, still does. The weather lady on channel 12 gave me a day of sunshine, so perfect and fine! But hey, there's always some chore to take your time if you let it. And if I left that grass a growin' one more day and went fishin' instead, inner harmony would grow by leaps and bounds to the Nth degree.

I think the vitamin D of sunshine is absorbed so much better on a river than pushing a mower. Allergies... mowing stuffs up my head. Noses run in my family.

So I met friend Dave for a morning of canoeing, fly fishing, absorbing vitamin D and exchanging bull. Fly fishing I just took up again after forty years and this was my first canoeing in forty years, too. Canoeing 101 it was. Managed to dump us only once! Unstable guy in many ways, it was a balancing act that was fortunately tuned on a shallow river.

A beautiful river, it was shined on by a beautiful day. Bass were the targets and we got a few. Couple nice size, too! We'd drift and stop, wade and cast, dressed as fisherman do in chest waders, fishing vests and always wearing the smile a good day of friends and fishing brings.

Wore me out I must say! Lawn mowing would have done the same. But at days end, with canoe and stuff loaded up to go home, we sat at river's edge and had a cold one, reflecting on what a darn fine day it had been.

You know, it's getting into summer and lawns need to be a bit longer anyway, to keep from burning up. And a good day of fishing can keep a guy from burning out. A win-win situation!

Old Farts Dating

Not an easy thing, trying to date at the age of 53. Especially when you've been out of the game for 20+ years. You'd think there'd be 53 year old women out there waiting for 53 year old stud-muffins like me. Maybe not a stud-muffin, more like a three day old donut that's been sittin' on the counter, crusty but available and looking for a bite.

Looking for a bite, tried trolling for a while. Now just still fishin', enjoying some quiet time, but still hoping for a nibble.

It's the 'Uncle Orville' syndrome. Unc never married and when we asked him why he'd just say "I only get married on weekends!" Orville's 'getting married' to him just meant the honeymoon. He did get to honeymoon quite a bit. Dashing South Dakota farmer that he was, he had no problem finding a weekend match.

Maybe I need some bib overalls with a sign that reads 'One night stand'. Would I like more than one night? Yes, if that unlikely match exists. For my remaining 50 years, provided I live till 103, I'd certainly need a gal with an enormous sense of humor, one that lends itself to her choice of music. If we could cook together while Prairie Home Companion plays from the under-the-counter kitchen radio, that would work good, too.

She might be out there, kinda like that star in the sky I never noticed before.

I'm ready for Iron Ore Betty!

Dad is happy for son Jim and Prom date Laura

Pretty neat. Grand march is an hour away and the kids we've been watching all their lives will be all spiffy and beaming. Dance is in the gym and they have an all night party after wards with oodles of good prizes. Jim expects to be back about 5am and has asked to be woken at 9am. Can't miss our Sunday morning bowling!

Pretty good kids!

Fishin', Mother's Day and Prom.

All the same weekend this year, Fishin' Opener, Mother's Day and Prom. Still waitin' for my prom date.

A perfect date would be the gal who longs for a lake with a walleye chop and at day's end would slow dance in the cabin. And how about that porch time? God sure makes crickets sing pretty out there at night. A 50 degree night is just the right crisp. Turns up the wattage on the stars. Even the skeeters are just laying back. Most anyway.

A perfect date. I'd cook breakfast for her! Eggs over-easy so you can break the yoke with your toast and smother the edges. Out on the dock, the morning fog still has the lake tucked in, not even the slightest ripple on the surface. Coffee in the thermos and sandwiches. That'll be good about the middle of morning.

It's a still fishin', bobber watching day. Just on the edge of the reeds. Somethings awake neath there and seems hungry... gotcha!

We release this one. Already had a keeper in the boat. Everybody should have a keeper.

Good luck fishin'!

My Priners

Can't put a price on a Priner. Kinda like a Sears Craftsman tool; guaranteed for life. If you're a John Prine fan, singing it in the car, hummin' along in the kitchen, sharin' that Priner attitude with valued friends who get along better than this is hard to imagine being legal. Break the darn law.

Priner attitude?

Everything,
Is a mole hill,
Nothing more.

But we have,
A mountain,
Of good friends.

The harvest of smiles,
Is bountiful.

Beer Booty

This came from one of them cabin tales last week.

Beer Booty

The story goes,
From long ago,
My eighth grade buds,
And me,
Stole some beer,
From the neighbor’s shed,
Went camping,
Just us three.

The booty was,
Four cases Schmidt,
The cans were steel,
Back then.
What wasn’t drank,
Around the fire,
We hid,
To drink again.

Most went,
In the river,
A six pack,
There and here,
And in the spring,
Of a secret cave,
We’d always have,
Cold beer!

Tucked away,
On a summer day,
After chores,
So hot and stinkin’,
We always had,
A cold one,
Down by the stream,
For drinkin’.

Reach down and find,
A six pack,
Roll one ‘cross your brow,
Wonder what the poor are doin’,
We’re pretty rich right now.

Now it’s quite,
A few years later,
But some Schmidt,
Still ain’t been found.
And somewhere,
There’s a six pack,
That needs to be drank down.
In the river,
It will sparkle,
When the sunshine,
Hits it so,
Reach down and grab,
A cold one,
Life is good,
Ya know!

Rumbling Mad!

Rumbling mad I say!!!

Music Choice, the provider of music channels for Charter Cable, has removed from it's lineup both Bluegrass and Americana! Hey you duufs! This is real music, not some churned out crap done with the same old studio musicians by the same old producers with the same old sound! This is art and expression, heartfelt, heartland, home-spun, feel good stuff!

Well Charter Cable, I can remove you from MY lineup, too! Ever hear of streaming (rhymes with steaming like me right now)? Maybe that's why Charter Cable is filing Chapter 11! Serves you right soaking the customer for tons of worthless channels that you say adds value!

Charter Cable, I always thought this was your theme song (to the tune 'My name is McNamara, I'm the leader of the band...):

I am the cable company,
The only one in town,
I got you by the gonads,
Coz there's no one else around!
It doesn't matter,
What you want,
There's nothing you can do,
Coz I am Charter Cable,
And it sure sucks being you!

**Not so fast Charter Cable. No matter what the decision, we always have at least two choices!

Raindrops on a Tin Roof

"I wonder what the poor folk are doin' tonight." Dave and I pondered that sitting on the porch of buddy Dave's cabin, drinks in hand, soaking in forest sounds and Canadian blend whiskey, mixed with just the slightest amount of ice and Diet Seven-Up. Priceless and perfect was the night. God had paroled us from a six month long Monday called winter and released a week of sixty degree, blue sky days, just for our five days of turkey hunting.

Dave's cabin sits overlooking a river valley, with rising limestone bluffs on the south side and a mix of forest brush and hardwood trees on the north. This north side, ten by sixteen cabin, sans electricity and running water, fills with cots and duffel bags, shotguns and camping chairs, crowding the permanent fixtures of a corner cabinet and small wood burning stove. The cabin door has a clasping latch, which most often fails to latch when old bladders get relieved, without fail, during the coldest part of the night. Normally that's also the time of night fire and heat have departed that wood burner, for lack of stoking.

The world improves greatly during cabin time, for it's that world that we solve all the problems for, no matter how late into the night it takes. And sometimes, we have an ocean of solving to do! Quite a think tank where the observations are proclaimed without.

Proud reflections of our families are beamed by each. Darn good kids. Retirement is pondered and envisioned, the northwoods lodge described, but yet to be built, where there will be bunks for all. No more cots!

The next day's hunting strategy is put in place, this by two hunters who have not one turkey between them through three spring and two fall seasons of attempted gobbling, clucking and yelping to lure in a Tom. I think I know what a turkey laugh sounds like now!

Friend George joined us for the weekend, as always bringing his pot of sausage and peppers, just so good, it can't be legal! And rain happened by for Saturday night, just because it could.

The cabin has a tin roof, keeps out rain and bats and that's all a person could ask. Saturday night, the rain on that tin roof had Dave reminiscing about the upstairs bedroom of his youth, where that rain on the roof sound would usher him and his brother to la-la land. And tonight it was back. "Great night's sleep tonight", he smiled and figured. And it got better.

Our brand new addition to the cabin was placed about fifty yards away the previous weekend... an outhouse beautifully built with boards and beams cut from the trees of Dave's land. This outhouse with an oak bench, a two foot porch and a tin roof was visited by Dave during that rainy Saturday night. He returned opening the hard latching door grinning and gleaming over the experience of sitting in that brand, spanking new outhouse (which does not stink) savoring the sound of rain on the outhouse roof. Just sit and enjoy!

Our season once again concluded with the population of wild turkeys unchanged. At the cabin, we left some Hormel chili and whiskey in case of emergency occupation. And we left with the richness of time spent with good friends.

I wonder what the poor folks were doin'.

A Well Built Outhouse

Built from the trees on my buddy Dave's land, each board and beam cut by his Timberking saw mill, we will no longer squat in the woods when at the cabin.

Just poopin',
Just peein',
Open the door,
That's what you'll be seein'.
But if I'm sleepin',
Let me nap,
Just too darn comfortable,
Takin' a crap!

Occupied!

Dodge County Canning Company - Real Good Jams!

When the James Thomas Band is booked for a weekend at the Northwoods Lounge, they set up the night before on Thursday and host an 'Open Stage' night, a chance for anyone, no talent required, to just have some fun singing to a crowd. And a good crowd it is. We had that tonight. I've gotten to know the players and they me. Kinda neat we all like John Prine and a bunch of Prine songs do get sung. We talk about things in common and that seems to be leading to things in common to do. It's a nice network of friends.

I passed around a paper list to get the names and e-mails/phone numbers of this group. Got an informal music group called The Dodge County Canning Company.

It's this goofy bunch who can maybe gather from time to time and just pick and play a bit. Need a bit more of that in this world!

Dodge County Canning Company - Real Good Jams!

The Store

A good friend of mine got laid off today. Seems to be a lot of that goin' around. Stinks.

Another long day,
Another long line,
Business at,
The unemployment store,
Is doin' just fine.

There's nothing,
For everyone,
Looking to find,
A way to get out of,
That crummy old line.

Cross the street,
Across from that store,
Is a factory sign,
There's no work anymore.
Closed till further notice,
Closed till better times.

It's there I was told,
That day I was done.

We're shippin' your job overseas,
Gotta pretty good deal,
Got labor for nothin',
And a real cheap factory,
We're shippin' the American dream,
We're shippin' it overseas,
Labor for nothin',
And a real cheap factory.

Another long day,
Another long line,
Business at the unemployment store,
Is doin' just fine.

Aw Heck Wisconsin

Ah heck Wisconsin,
Is there a better place to be,
Pickled eggs and cheap tap beer,
And a polka just for me.
Love handles on the both of us,
The both of us agree,
A love night out at deer camp,
Is a damn right place to be.

So we'll do a bit,
Of our hop in the sack,
Then go have a drink,
On the porch out the back.
Hear the late night critters,
Serenade like they do,
It's a damn good deer camp,
For me and for you.
Listen to them critters,
Hold each other too,
We'll snore together,
Aw Heck.
In Wisconsin.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.**Maybe share some cheese curds about 1am. Don't that sound good!

The Big Hearted Guy from Chocolate City

It was my honor to finally meet and get to know our friend we know as Crusher. He'll have you call him Tom and ask your name, too. Friends do that.

So Tom, this is from your hundreds of Phine Prine Phriends to you buddy. Ride safe!



The Big hearted Guy from Chocolate City

The Big Hearted Guy,
From Chocolate City,
Where Nestles,
Employs all but him.
Goes to every John Prine concert,
Been a hundred or so of them.
He’s the official,
John Prine Historian,
The official,
Number one fan,
And as long as there’s this,
He will never miss,
A concert,
As long as he can.

The most recent years,
He’s been goin’,
Been a struggle,
He’s there just the same.
His great big heart,
Had a worn out part,
And he’s walkin’,
Around with a cane.
But he still has,
That smile,
So infectious,
Rosy cheeks,
And a big mop of hair.
Big heart,
Sweet just like chocolate,
A friend,
Who is medium rare.

Paul Harvey - Thank you Paul

With the passing of Paul Harvey, I wondered if his broadcasts were part of your life as they were mine. It's no doubt that I planned my drive to work and lunch time around Paul Harvey News and Commentary.

I first heard Paul back in my Army days in the late 1970s. We had a carload of FTAers (F.T.A. is something real close to Foul The Army) whose drive from the barracks to work included Paul's News. He chose news of interest, good and bad, sprinkled with commentary. I always likened it to a bunch of us sitting around a small town cafe listening to a farm-country radio station, somewhere next to cornfields, crows and cows.

Everybody's friend, all family. How many times throughout the years we heard him mention at broadcast's end, that he had a "date with an Angel". Of course, that was his wife Lynne, his Angel, who passed just this last year, too. He shared with us his pride of the accomplishments of Paul Jr., who penned much of the news and Rest of the story scripts.

Guess I thought he was like the favorite uncle who you always thought would be around.

The end-of-week-broadcasts always started with "Good morning Americans... it's Friday!" Always sounded good! And often that Friday broadcast would end with him saying he'd be at his beloved ranch named 'Revelry'. Guess Him and Angel are sittin' on the porch up there right now.

Thanks Paul.

Free Hug Tuesday

My seventeen year old son, wise beyond his years, maybe to the age of eighteen, is engaged in an activity which may not solve the world's problems, but at least plants a seed for an answer. Every Tuesday, the school abounds with hugs. And they're free! Free of charge, free of tax, a simple hug.

Free Hug Tuesday

With all the bad we’re hearin’,

The nasty nightly news,

There’s still some good things,

Goin’ on,

That everyone could use.

It's just an act of kindness,

Somehow swept beneath the rug,

A warm and fuzzy feel good,

A Free Hug Tuesday hug!

So hug your buddies,

Hug your pals,
The lunch-line ladies too.
Hug a teacher,
Watch yer hands,
It's something,
They shant do!
And when somebody,
Thinks it's weird,
Just show 'em,
It's OK.
Fear not,
It's just affection,
And it makes a better day.

A Bit of Purpose

I gave my son a nice five piece luggage set for Christmas, something he needed and appreciated as a gift. American Tourister, built to last. He'd worn his old set out, packing and unpacking it every Sunday night. That's when he arrives or leaves, seven days on, seven off. He left tonight, carrying two full sized suitcases, a backpack and the Playstation box all at once, an acquired skill.

Oh, there's still a closet full of stuff and dresser full of more. What ever is left on the floor gets laundered, extra Downy so it smells nice and then either hung or folded in it's place. Yeah, I pick up after him. Whatever habits he has by now are not about to change. Puts a bit of purpose in my life, too.

A bit of my purpose is just giving my son a place he feels real good about calling home. In this modest house, we have good meals, in front of the TV, but still together. It's decorated poorly, but the furniture is comfortable. Tried painting once and you can tell that I did! And I'm proud to say we have a civil household. I saw the other way for many years and there's no need for that. I hope my children and their own families will have this, too.

I had purpose present itself to me right before Christmas. Spring tuition was due for my daughter and I was the only parent who could help. But this was on top of an already fair amount of expenses. Up till then, I always had a Plan B purpose when no others seemed around. That purpose was to visit the Legion and ensure their supply of Jagermeister never spoiled. Costly, but I kept their Jagermeister always fresh!

I cut out Plan B and any beer it took to wash it down as part of an effort to pay that spring tuition. The town ATM isn't wearing out so fast any more. Wasn't as hard as I thought, either. I get positive re-enforcement right before bedtime when my son and I do the 'count'.

Background time. Many years ago I would tuck in my son and say "I love you"... and he'd just roll his eyes. One night he said "You always say that". "Yes", I explained "and I could say that 10,000 times and never grow tired of it". So we started counting. We started from 10,000 counting the nightly "I love you". And he stopped rolling his eyes and would sincerely echo mine.

Still does. We're down to 3,059 after tonight. We did actually start saying three nightly some time ago, just to hasten the count. Another count has been added, that of days without smoking. Up to 38. The nice part is he gives me a 'thumbs up' along with a wonderful approving smile.

Makes me feel pretty good about my purpose. Gives me strength to carry my own luggage.

That Valentine

On a day without a valentine, you think back to when you did have one. Way back, way in love. Folks just shook their heads. Thirty years ago it was Mary who had my heart. Both in the Army, she caught my eye in her blue jeans and plaid shirt covered by long, dishwater-blond hair. Simple pretty. And she was with my fellow Minnesotan Lurch, so I joined their table at the club. Talk brought out her favorite song was Blues Eyes Cryin' in the Rain. Wow! Nail my balls to a stump and push me over backwards! Hook, line, sinker, I was.

God that felt good. Every minute wonderful. And so Valentine's Day, a songwriter must have a Valentine's Day song for the one he loves. From my barracks to hers I called, and with the phone propped in the direction of a clumsy soldier, sang to that phone out in the barracks hallway:

May sound funny,
On Valentine's Day,
To call and sing,
To you this way.
Gettin' used to you,
Like a pair of old shoes,
Be my Valentine,
Mary Kruse!

After the Army, Mary returned to Ohio and I Minnesota. But we did hook up for just a bit. It wasn't the right time, I thought. Poor choices of priorities prevailed. I did call her home in Ohio a few years later, in the bag and missin' her. Her sister Suzie said she'd married and moved to New York State. Suzie asked if I wanted her number. Nah. I just said to wish her all the best.

Blew that. Still miss the way them old shoes fit so well.

Pullin' for the President

**Note from the real Rumbleshorts: Seems like Pres Obama figured out my password and posted under my name. Probably used that super-duper, all-powerful Blackberry of his!

What the heck was I thinking?
Running for president!
And darned if they didn't elect me.
Guess no other would jump into this mess.
Now I'm like the gal who just swam the Atlantic,
But it ain't water in my ocean!
It does seem like lots of folks,
Are pullin' for the President.
Gotta do a good job,
Or I'll be out.
Foreclosed on the Big White House.
Four million jobs.
A trillion dollars.
You want fries with that?