I don't know what you saw, sir,
But you never saw a saucer,
Naw, sir - no saucer!
It should be against the law, sir,
For you to claim a saucer!
I think may be a balloon,
Or the Northern Lights in June,
But don't sing me that tune
about a saucer!
Naw, sir, no saucer!

Don't you think it rather silly
For a space ship willy-nilly,
Sailing light years from Antares
To settle down outside of Philly
In a pasture full of mares?
Ignoring all the seven wonders,
Cape Canaveral and thunders
Of our space shots seeking Mars?
Seeking outward to the stars?

Grabbing little red necked maids
Going fishing in the glades;
Sitting spook-like on the fenders,
Trying to deduce the genders
Of the lovers' lane contenders
In the wilds of Tennessee?
Naw, sir, I'm not buying a saucer!

Stomping down the wheat in Britian,
Leaving Kings and Senates sittin'
While they mutillate a kitten
In some Oklahoma barn?
Listen to yourselves!

Pointy headed alien creatures
Abducting love starved old maid teachers,
Southern red necks, snake cult preachers;
Traveling googol miles through space
To visit Daisy Mae and paw
In Owlshit Junction, Arkansas?
Stop trying, I'm not buying!

When they come with jets of thunder
(As would we)
Then will I in awe and wonder
Strain to hear them when they greet
The Oval Room and Downing Street.

George W. Martin
4483 Lindell Blvd, Apt 1134
St. Louis, Mo. 63108