CARL'S a blond mountain man
his heart's in the big rolling hills
where the women fry fish in a pan
and the real men can operate stills.

Carl bows his head and drags
his third cigarette 'cross dry lips
just smoking, no boasts and no brags —
and I can't keep my eyes off his hips.

Carl just left for the night
and I pinched his ass as he went
perhaps not a subtle invite
but then, subtle was not my intent.