Memories of Kentucky

People think that Kentucky is a gracious and elegant 'Merkan state,
Full of glamour, exciting horse races and redneck peasants with cowboy hats,
Replete in historical renown and with a world-famous chicken dish
Named in its honour, yum yum, it's nice and uniquely salty.
But there is another, darker side to this fabulous region:
Believe me, I know, I was there about fourteen years ago (roughly speaking)
And I have experienced its ghastly violence down to my very toenails.

I was riding down Main Street, Henderson, on my pet horse Adolf H,
Towing my immensely obese third wife Fatso Freda in her reinforced trailer,
When a group of teenage trannie bikers dressed in pink mock-suede
Emerged from one of the town's renowned gay fine dining cafés,
Utterly sky-high on Campari and Soda with a twist of fresh lime,
And, seeing the mock-lesbian tweedy way fat Empanada was dressed,
They dragged her out of her oxcart and thrashed her real cruel.

Those heartless perverts left the plump creature lying there in the dust,
Her skirt riding up and exposing her mighty mottled thighs for all to see.
And for what?  Just because they didn't like the sneer on her fat face?,
Or maybe it was the horrid stench of her unwashed arsehole?
Alors! The poor old trout had to be taken off to hospital but to no avail
As our health insurance wasn't valid thus the doctors let her expire.
Dear God, I shall never ever visit the Kentucky Derby again, yeeha.