MODERN SNAKEOIL
My grandaddy said he was gettin' up three and four times a night
Then he saw one of these commercials on the box that said
He could sleep all night and wake up in the morning feeling just right
Well, he don't get up at all now but in the morning he has a wet bed
Then my wife saw an ad for a pill guaranteeing weight loss while you sleep
It said in just a few short weeks we'd all see a slimmer, trimmer you
Taking them literally at their word, she tried it first on some of the sheep
The weight she lost was from her purse but we still had some prize-winner ewes
Drug commercials on the television frost me to no end
"Just Say No" got lost somewhere in corporate greed
They've convinced us that pharmaceuticals are our friends
And if you believe all they say, you'll be buying the devil's weed
Disclaimers about adverse effects delivered like a sales pitch
No longer buried and blurred with intent to conceal
Silver-tongued talkers smooth over danger like quilters do a straight stitch
Dubious cures or plain ol' snakeoil, trading known for unknown is a bad deal
Regardless of the drug they're selling or the ailment it's supposed to cure
The list of negative posibilities outweighs the chance for success
One must be completely desperate to fall for this snakeoil allure
So desperate to be completely unaware of the impending distress
If we treated our livestock with this same mentality,
We'd reduce the value of the herds by every animal treated
No one would buy a burger knowing it could cause senility
No rancher would help his own livelihood to become defeated
Major drug companies prescribing without benefit of diagnosis
"Do no harm" is an oath they uphold only as it relates to their net earnings
Meanwhile, we're all walking around like subjects of hypnosis
Seems to me that we could cure our ills with much better means
Expecting a result and getting more than bargained is not always advantageous
It's not the same as ordering a truck-load of fresh-cut alfalfa
And getting a free all expense-paid trip to the Strip in Las Vegas
It's more like expecing a cure for hiccups and getting free fibromyalgia
When did we switch from cancer being a death sentence
To becoming just another item in the long list of side effects?
When did society accept mortal sin without repentance?
The goal of the industry and our own wisdom are both suspect
© 2025 / Brian McNeal
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UNFIT
"Unfit" says it best of all
When a cowboy has the gall
Or anyone lacking in cognizance
Hateful of the populace
In love with themselves beyond megalomaniacal
Obsessed with building up the numerical
Blind to all but their own likeness—
Those who don't have enough whiteness
Sometimes we find horses like this
And give their sorry asses a goodbye kiss
Along with all of the herd they've melded,
We sort them out to be quickly gelded
"Unfit" says it best of all
When a cowboy has the gall
Or anyone lacking in cognizance
Hateful of the populace
In love with themselves beyond megalomaniacal
Obsessed with building up the numerical
Blind to all but their own likeness—
Those who don't have enough whiteness
Sometimes we find horses like this
And give their sorry asses a goodbye kiss
Along with all of the herd they've melded,
We sort them out to be quickly gelded
© 2025 / Brian McNeal
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DANGERS OF A CLOSED CASKET
The old cowboy faded away quietly one day in Autum
He'd lived a life fullfilled with grace and mercy
And left behind a gentle wife, who wished not to embalm
"Then a closed casket it will have to be," said Parson Percy
A young and raucous rowdy died in a barroom fight
Fists and bullets competed in the air for space
Many wounds and bruises stumbled home from the bar that night
But this not-big-enough-for-his-hat rounder fell from grace
He too, was nailed down tight in a box of pine
Both young and old lay side by side at the mortician's
With only one style of coffin ever offered at the time
Just which was which? You'd never get an admission
Services were held and no one thought it contrite
Resting in glorious eternity is the soul's goal
Funeral director by day and drunkard by night
Who can say who's in which six foot hole
Consternation, confusion and chaos at the pearly gates
Saint Pete can't find the name of this jaded jasper
"Maybe you're early, maybe you're mixed up on your dates"
Meanwhile down below an old cowboy is facing certain disaster
Heaven's detectives were set to work
To find out just how this mistake was made
When they learned of the cowboy below about to cook
St. Pete said, "I'll work it out and find a way to make a trade"
So the young rowdy was admitted to heaven by default
St. Pete had no choice but to let him pass
Heaven would never be the same after this sidewinder assault
"There goes the neighborhood," said Pete, "we just got our first jackass"
Well, the young rounder caused all kinds of pandemonium
Upsetting the tranquility and leading angels astray
He lied, cheated, commited fraud and sold cubic zirconia
Heaven got so bad that even the Almighty began to pray
St. Pete knew he had to get rid of this hooligan
Heaven was no longer the same after he sold off cloud nine
If he stayed, no one could tell just what Heaven would become
So, St. Pete devised a way to rid the here-after of this swine
He called him in and told him he was going down, but only half way
He'd be sent back to Earth for a test to see if he could change
There he'd stay as they watched his actions from day to day
Either he'd return upstairs or end up in Hell's firey range
So it was decided and approved that he'd be sent out
St. Pete wasn't pleased with the way he'd turned Heaven into a dump
He gave the jasper specific instructions to be followed without doubt
And so he would never be able to return he changed his name to Trump
...
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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PEACE KILLERS-9, PEOPLE-0
The score shows the People behind
Peace Killers ahead by nine
First Abe, by a rebel malcontent
Nearly a hundred years before the next went
John killed by: who really knows?
Then Malcom, shot down in his preacher's clothes
Martin, who preached about a cross at Calvary
Was targeted while standing on the balcony
My heart sank when I heard about Bobby
Peace Killers score one more body
I really thought we lost the crusade
Four dead at Kent State and I was afraid
Then another John, gunned down in the Big Apple
If the People want to score, it's going to be a big battle
Seems the People don't have a chance at winning
Numbers on the scoreboard keep spinning
Now they aim at children in school
Shoot 'em down before they change the rule
Peace Killers in the legislatures too
Laws to protect the killers but not me and you
The numbers on the scoreboard keep mounting
And the People keep counting
Peace Killers with a huge lead
While the People bleed
There are way too many Peace Killers on their team
And not nearly enough People who will scream
When the rules of play are inequitable
The People's loss is inevitable
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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CITY RANCHERS
Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sometime,
People from the city encroaching past the rural line.
As life gives us chances to experience things anew,
More and more of the clueless come into view.
Pushing the envelope to advance and grow,
Is only good so long as you don't crow.
Getting bigger than your britches can be fateful,
When you've helped yourself to more'n a plateful.
"A man's got to know his limitations," according to Dirty Harry.
Cross the line, and you'll never get any prize more than tertiary.
Wiser words were never said by anyone since St. Francis of Assisi.
It's much like paying for a Mercedes and getting a Mitsubishi.
And so it is with those who delve into areas unknown,
When crops and livestock never become fully grown.
Life and Mother Nature have a way to put them back in their place.
If only they were smart enough to realize when they fall flat on their face.
People who leave the city for a rural life,
Are like the priest who takes a wife,
Or like a butcher without a knife,
Like Las Vegas without the nightlife.
Out of their area of expertise to say the least,
Running wild like a dog unleashed,
Never hearing the words that were preached,
Doomed to fail and fall prey to the beast.
Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sometime,
People from the city encroaching past the rural line.
As life gives us chances to experience things anew,
More and more of the clueless come into view.
Pushing the envelope to advance and grow,
Is only good so long as you don't crow.
Getting bigger than your britches can be fateful,
When you've helped yourself to more'n a plateful.
"A man's got to know his limitations," according to Dirty Harry.
Cross the line, and you'll never get any prize more than tertiary.
Wiser words were never said by anyone since St. Francis of Assisi.
It's much like paying for a Mercedes and getting a Mitsubishi.
And so it is with those who delve into areas unknown,
When crops and livestock never become fully grown.
Life and Mother Nature have a way to put them back in their place.
If only they were smart enough to realize when they fall flat on their face.
People who leave the city for a rural life,
Are like the priest who takes a wife,
Or like a butcher without a knife,
Like Las Vegas without the nightlife.
Out of their area of expertise to say the least,
Running wild like a dog unleashed,
Never hearing the words that were preached,
Doomed to fail and fall prey to the beast.
© 2025 / Brian McNeal
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ABORTION BLUES
Knitting needles and coat hangers
And neanderthal haranguers.
Back room abortions with torture tools,
The world is filled with political fools.
If you can change the clocks each year,
Why not move far enough to make it clear?
Why not turn back to a darker time,
When life on earth was not so fine?
You and your neighbors could fight
Over keeping slaves - it's your right.
You could drain blood to cure your sickness
And fall off the edge of the earth to prove your thickness.
You'd never see the man on the moon,
Or watch the election in your living room.
You'd only know what the emporer chooses,
And you'd never know what everyone loses.
You think you're right on moral grounds,
But your flawed arrogance is profound.
You want to separate church and state,
But you want your church to decide my fate.
You can't ban abortion with the stroke of a pen.
Only safe abortions will be gone in the end.
Back room quacks with dubious intent,
And unchecked methods you can't prevent.
Knitting needles and coat hangers.
Dangerous abortions thanks to political haranguers.
It's hard being a woman in this boat,
But don't forget they still have the right to vote.
Knitting needles and coat hangers
And neanderthal haranguers.
Back room abortions with torture tools,
The world is filled with political fools.
If you can change the clocks each year,
Why not move far enough to make it clear?
Why not turn back to a darker time,
When life on earth was not so fine?
You and your neighbors could fight
Over keeping slaves - it's your right.
You could drain blood to cure your sickness
And fall off the edge of the earth to prove your thickness.
You'd never see the man on the moon,
Or watch the election in your living room.
You'd only know what the emporer chooses,
And you'd never know what everyone loses.
You think you're right on moral grounds,
But your flawed arrogance is profound.
You want to separate church and state,
But you want your church to decide my fate.
You can't ban abortion with the stroke of a pen.
Only safe abortions will be gone in the end.
Back room quacks with dubious intent,
And unchecked methods you can't prevent.
Knitting needles and coat hangers.
Dangerous abortions thanks to political haranguers.
It's hard being a woman in this boat,
But don't forget they still have the right to vote.
© 2025 / Brian McNeal
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TWO BULLS
In the battle between two bulls
One is bound to win and the other to lose
When the issue is what's mine or yours
Tempers flare like all the previous wars
When one says they have exclusive domain
The other hears a threat to their reign
There are plenty cows to go around
But each bull refuses to give ground
It's not a matter of right or wrong
It's not a matter of how long
It's not a matter of who threw the first stone
It's simply just a matter of testosterone
...
© 2023 Brian McNeal
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