DRAGGING WEEKEND
(Tune: "Armored Cruiser Squadron"?)
It's Saturday noon on Tecumseh Court,
As visitors gather to watch the sport,
Your own drag's there—she's a last resort,
Your cousin's college roommate—
The beauties rolled in on every bus,
And most of us met without a fuss—
If one is a brick, too late to cuss,
She's yours for the whole damn weekend!
The muster's taken, reports, salutes,
The Drum and Bugle Corps thumps and toots,
By now your heart's sinking in your boots,
When "Diners fall out!" is given.
The football game is a total bust,
The hop puts your weekend in the dust,
You dance with her because you must,
It's twelve, and the doors go open.
You head for the drag house double-quick,
Still thinking you're certain to get the Brick,
While the Bancroft clocks go tick-tick-tick,
Not right for the Flying Squadron.
The drag house parlor is nice and dark,
Just right for couples to start a spark,
And a furtive fumble soon finds its mark,
Woo-hoo! For the Flying Squadron!
And that's when you find, that "homely daughter"
Is hotter than Babcock and Wilcox water,
For it wasn't an Eagle Scout who taught her,
It's you for the Flying Squadron!
7-13-18
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