S.O.S. by Catfish McDaris

My old man spoke of eating shit on a shingle
for breakfast in the army, “Yes sirree bob,
nothing better, it’ll put hair on your chest”
my sisters all made ugly faces

Visions of big hairy assed roofers crapping on
top of our house came to mind & then our dad
climbing up there & bringing down a steaming
platter of monstrous green greasy turds, all
curled around for a morning meal

When we found out S.O.S. was army talk for
chipped beef & gravy on toast, we all breathed
a sigh of relief, then he started singing a marching
song about Eskimo vaginas, we all thought war
must have warped his mind forever.