by buddy on December 17, 2016


He had oodles and oodles of little things
Cell phones, assorted coins and keys on rings

He stuffed his pockets with all this stuff
But even pockets weren’t tuffy  nough
They bellowed and bulged at all the seams
And put holes in the pockets of his favorite jeans.

An extra container was sorely in need
A bag or purse would suffice indeed

But he wouldn’t carry a purse by hand
Because he was too macho, a man’s man

And carrying a purse his gender might evolve
It was certainly a puzzle hard to solve

Awakening from sleep, he sat up in bed
A bright light bulb hung over his head

He’d make a purse that strapped over his shoulder
To carry all his stuff, stuffed in this holder

It’d be made for a man, a real man’s purse
The words put together he’d call it a “Murse”
Buddy swing


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