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Ho! Hey! What a stinKy DaY!

By Wil C. Fry, April 30, 1990.04.30

(Copyright © 1990 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.)

Home > Poetry Index > 1990 > Ho! Hey! What a stinKy DaY!

ink pens, fountain pens, rubber pens, metal pens,
you can write your name with any one of them
school books, hard back, little books, paper back
find them all, every one in a big stack
calculator, terminator, commentator, stimulator
I found an ugly cannibal, and so I ate ‘er
sunburn, Komintern, left turn, little worm
My boat hit a whale and I found it was a Sperm
Greased hair, Grizzly bear, over there, in a chair
Have a fruit tree, let it grow some green pears.
Come make a simple mental connection, for Goodness’ sake

What does it mean? Don’t ask Eugene! (He’s such a green bean)
Don’t sit on the bleacher, just shoot the teacher (If you can reach her)
Hey! Hey! (the Hudson Bay!) (I wanna play!)
(Artichoke!) Gimme a Coke! (What a bloke!) (Go choke!)
Doesn’t make sense, I’ve got sixpence (crashed into a fence)
(Asparagus!) the World are Us, (don’t make such a big fuss)

Racing down a freeway, on a bright sunny day (feelin’ kinda gay)
It’s so nice, I skidded on the ice (I paid the price)
Hit a snow bank, You a skank, baby
Hey, Ho, His name ain’t Joe
Ho, Hey, What a stinky day! Wo! Wow! How Now Brown Cow

Behold, break the mold, do what you’re told, the house is sold
Be my honey, spend my money, call me funny, watch Bugs Bunny
Why are you climbing that tree? You are an alligator, I see.
When are you? (Oh, you too?) Don’t be Blue (Just be thru!)
Come unglued, Be a prude, the Birdy cooed, the lover wooed
Sunday, Tuesday, Crappy Days;
Monday, Friday, Sappy Days;
Thursday, Wednesday, Pappy Days,
The Weekday comes, my bicycle hums, ready to pedal for You!




For L.M.H., for whom I had a small and short-lived crush, regarding the bus trip to Six Flag on April 28, 1990.

Note: I originally signed this “Hay-soos”, which was temporarily my nickname in high school.

I’m aware that the “shoot the teacher” line wouldn’t fly today. Times were different back then and we didn’t assume that a simple throwaway line in a stupid poem was a sign of criminal intent.




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