Kitchen Bricks
February 2, 2012

Kitchen, Kitchen, Kitchen Bricks

Bore two faces and a few, old tricks.

A poor, old farmer who was southern bred,

But when the war came round, he wore blue instead.

A homemade Yankee, a whole of a terror,

But being a turncoat wasn't his only error.

He sought; he stole for those northern boys.

His chores made a way while they held a poise.

Kitchen, Kitchen, Kitchen Bricks

Tossed away his grays, one of two, old picks.

It was only when the fight didn't go his way.

Forget that rebel yell. He's a Union stray.

He joined in '61, but was caught in '63.

He made informant during the rivalry.

Burglary was a trade as bold as his face.

Though one too many would do him disgrace.

Kitchen, Kitchen, Kitchen Bricks

Played the game awry with no last licks.

A scratch with a scrap with no outer fight.

Rather take to death and the color of night.

Instead of turning states and beggin' for pity,

He invaded the sanctum of some old biddy.

So how did it end for an old yella brand?

A shot from a doc with a hole in his hand.

© 2012 Jarrod C. Lacy