I stepped on a bug
then I stepped on another,
maybe they were cousins,
or maybe brothers,
‘cause they two looked alike
from what I could see,
which if those bugs could talk,
they’d be sayin’ ‘bout my feet.
(Photo: PaC)
When I woke up this morning
The weather was hot.
But where were my flip-flops?
Did I know? I did not.
All through the long winter
All we wore was boots
Then suddenly the
Flipping trees had flopped fruit.
So in my bare feet
With nerves that were fraying
I searched for my flops
While I shoulda’ been playing.
Being flipflopless
Was terribly scary,
‘Till the moment I found’em –
That flipped on my merry.
‘Cause nothing says good times
Like flops on your feet
Not inside the house
But out on the warm street.