A man sits on his porch, drinking.
The old porch groans, thinking:
God, this man is heavy and fat
what the hell is he looking at?

He's dazed and mumbles in this heat
his shoulders are hunched in quiet defeat.
He's lost his edge, like he's ready to quit
ever since his wife went and split,

he came out the door in a great huffy pout
and he's filthy and hasn't showered, I don't doubt.
His hair is greasy with grime and there's a strong stench
of day old fish, the nasty wretch.

He's drinking Jack Daniels on the rocks
tough guy that he is, playing with his cock.
His hair has gone white, his belly quite round
but in his youth he was once renowned

as the brilliant, yet eccentric, mathemetician
yelling crude profanity, on a mission
"the government is after you!" he would shriek
and the people would avoid him, what a freak.

Now he's just old and smelly and fat
and sits on the porch all day with that
chraming smile and funked up smell
and he tilts back in his chair to yell
"howdy" to the neighbors in that old-man manner
and he tips back his drink and begins his proverbial banter.

A man sits on his porch drinking.
The old porch groans thinking:
Dammit, It's good this nut exists
there's nothing better in life than this.