Memories of Georgia (the one in the USofA)

Some folks think that peachy Georgia is a charming and elegant state
But I have seen more horror there in a single day than
Most people have had hot all-day breakfasts out on their porches
(with an average of fourteen mangy dogs lying underneath
and a Klan flag hanging limply off their verandah flagpole),
So, speaking frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Yeeha.
How weepily I recall a tour through this gorgeous land
In the gaily painted pink Hummer which my fourth cousin Abe
Kindly lent me (fully equipped with four-poster bed in the back
for screwing hitch-hikers on the run from their horny brothers
and fathers and uncles and cousins and police officers
and teachers and other toothless family members).

O what glorious sights I saw, the sweat dripping down my cheeks
(the ones both on my face and below my buckled belt):
Graceful Albany, delightful city where wearing "sagged down" trousers
Earns the eager fashion plate community service or a twenty dollar fine;
Delightful East Dublin, home of the inspirational Redneck Games
Featuring such delights as long-distance phlegm-putting
Armpit-fart serenading and extreme faggot-bashing;
Aristocratic old Monroe, famous place of pilgrimage
For KKK diehards in memory of the last mass lynching
(still perplexingly "unsolved" in spite of over fifty witnesses
but, hey ho, it was only sixty-six years ago and I hear
the eager local cops are still working hard on the case, cough).

O, but I could go on and on about the delights of this elysium,
(possessor of the USA's ninth highest murder rate in spite of
spending more per inhabitant on incarcerating felons
accused even of petty crimes than anywhere else in the entire world,
thus validating the effectiveness of the governor's proud claim that
"if you do the crime, you do the time, yeeha, y'all").
And I might be tempted to mention the grassroots movement
To get glorious Georgia's schools to teach creationism
As a realistic alternative to science on the amusing grounds
That Darwinism is but one possibly theory among several.

But now to the meat of my tragic tale: I was cruising down a leafy avenue
In Macon, admiring the cut-price gun and ammunition stores,
Looking vainly for a restaurant which offered something for a change
From beefburgers and grits accompanied by beer by the quart,
Or the prohibitionist alternative of tooth-rotting cola,
Followed by Mom's shop-bought apple pie with instant coffee,
When, my eyes being momentarily distracted by the sight of
A tasty busty bird in a stars 'n' stripes bikini being thrashed
Into a helpless pulp for shamelessly displaying herself
In godless immorality by some obese Pentacostal vigilantes,
I inadvertently drove over a drunken hillbilly sleeping in the gutter,
His trusty shotgun sticking out of his dungarees' pocket
And his hairy tattooed beer-belly stained with day-old puke.

O Jesus, what a hideous mess it made of my white-walled tyres,
And the smell of half-digested moonshine was noisome;
You can bet your little cotton socks I had to step on the gas
To skedaddle out of town real goddamn' quick
Before the locals lynched my luscious Limey arsehole;
The good lord above knows what they would have done
Had they discovered the three nympho trailer trash retard broads
I had hidden in the four-poster in the back of Cousin Abe's Hummer,
Bearing in mind that they were in mid-minge munch at the time.
I think I shall probably skip this peachy paradise in the future
Especially since I probably need to commence a course of well-earned
Anti-syphilis injections at a reliable private health clinic.