Ode to the Weekend

by T.T. Fugher

There's a thing ahead, just beyond sight
A particular day, a spectacular night

When one fills his vessel up past the rim
With a titillating tequila, or below average gin

Or how bout a shot of Old Plumbmaster's Moon
Or a bottle of 90 proof finished too soon

Let us not forget our good friends from the can
Ol Sweet Key Lightheart, lend us thy hand

Ounces turn to gallons, red cups held by all
Easy enough to answer the call

One cup, two, two more, four
Dance party break down on the floor

Everybody hold the beat...

Render the time, the reason we're here
To slay thy Gnar, to spin without fear

I'll snake your line, now you've snaked mine
Off the c-rail, break your fall with your spine

Ride til sundown, no reason for sober
Put a beer in a coozie and send 'er on over

Have a good weekend, a-holes!

Redneck Pick-Up Lines

I came across this while stumbling the web and while this isn't technically a poem, it's still funny as hell:

"Girl, your body reminds me of a wrench, 'cause when I look at it my nuts tighten up."

Keg Beer

by C. Mi Stroganov

Shiny can, rubber hose

Sweet aroma to thy nose

Filled with ice, plastic basket

Drink to much, get your ass kicked

One pump, two, three pump, four

Bryan's laid out on the floor

Nate's cup, fill 'er up

No need for Seagram's 7-up

Swish, fizz, bubbly sound

Time for another round

Chief, Bingo, Honey McB

Someone's tires receiving pee

Theresa, Cassie, playing games

Nothing like two lesbo dames

Friends, snow, season's here

Drinking, drunk, that's keg beer

The Beaver that Got Away

by C. Yer Peach

I hunt squirrel and I hunt deer

I've bagged ten roosters in a year

I hunt goat and I hunt pig

I'd hunt Rosie if she weren't so big

I hunt oxen and I hunt cow

If I spot a turtle, my gun goes POW

I've hunted rabbits in a carrot patch

I beat bigfoot in a wrestling match

I hunt doe and I hunt stag

But there's one thing I can't bag

It's small and furry and I hate to say

It's the beaver that got away

I've searched high and I've searched low

I've searched the pants of a two-bit ho

That pesky beaver eludes me yet

But I'll bag it someday you can bet

I'll ram my barrell down it's throat

And unleash hell until it chokes