Some men hunt for sport, others hunt for food.
Thee only thing I'm hunting for is an outfit that looks good.
See my vest, see my vest,
made from real Gorilla chest.
See this sweater,
there's no better than authentic Irish Setter.
See this hat, 'twas my cat.
My evening wear, vampire bat.
These white slippers are Albino
African endangered Rhino.
Grizzly bear underwear.
Turtle necks, I've got my share.
Breed of Poodle on my noodle
It shall rest.
Try my red Robin suit, it comes one breast or two.
See my vest,
see my vest,
see my vest.
Like my loafers, former gophers.
It was that, or skin my chauffeurs.
But a greyhound fur tuxedo would be best,
so let's prepare these dogs
{???? for matching ???}
See my vest,
see my vest,
Oh please won't you see my vest.
I really like the vest.
Grampa's ``Old MacDonald'' song in 9F21:
Old MacDonald had a farm -- E-I E-I-O. And on this farm, he had a chick -- the swing-n-est chick I know. With a wig-a-wiggle here, a wig-a-wiggle there.
I got a bratty brother. He bugs me everyday. And this morning my own mother She gave my last cupcake away. My Dad acts like he belongs, He belongs in the zoo. I'm the sadddddest kid, In graaaaade number two...
From 7F24, Lisa's poem about Snowball:
I had a cat named Snowball... She died! She died! Mom said she was sleeping... She lied! She lied! Why oh why is my cat dead? Couldn't that Chrysler hit me instead? [...]
Marge's poem `To a Husband' in 7F11:
The blackened clouds are forming... Soon the rain will fall. My dear one is departing. But first, please heed this call... That always will I love you, My one...my love...my all.
The ``Cops in Springfield'' theme in 9F09:
BAD COPS, BAD COPS. BAD COPS, BAD COPS. BAD COPS, BAD COPS. BAD COPS, BAD COPS. BAD COPS, BAD COPS. Springfield Cops are on the take, but what do you expect from the money we make. Whether in a car or on a horse, we don't mine using excessive force. BAD COPS, BAD COPS. BAD COPS, BAD COPS.
From 9F15, Grampa's story that goes nowhere
We can't bust heads like we used to, but we have our ways. One trick is to tell 'em stories that don't go anywhere...like the time I took the ferry over to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe, so I decided to go over to Morganville, which was what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days nickels had pictures of bumblebees on them. "Give me five bees for a quarter," you'd say. Now where was I? Oh yeah...the important thing was that I had an onion tied to my belt...which was the style at the time. You could not get any white onions, because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones...[top]
