Judy O'Ree

I wanna tell you the story of a dear old friend of mine.
Her name was Judy O'Ree, and damn was that girl fine!

She had locks of gold and eyes of a sparkling blue.
Whatever came out of her beautiful lips, you had to believe it was true.

She thought she could talk to anyone; Paul, John, and Steve.
Until one night something bad went down, something you might not believe.

Out in a bar in Deadwood, out west, is where Judy's story ends.
I'm out drinking with Judy and a couple of our friends.

These two mongoloids walk into the bar, Walking tall and talking loud.
The way they drank and the way they swore would never make their mamas proud.

Those boys got drunk as sailors on leave; they were more than a little bit tipsy.
One said "Hey Frank, where are we now?" The other: "Gee George, I think it's Poughkeepsie!"

George looked over at me and my pals, and gave little Judy that stare.
"Jeez Frankie," he grunted, "just look at that girl over there!"

Judy laughed, laughed right at that boy, with a grin full of white teeth.
"Listen here, boy, this girl's got a name, and my name is Judy O'Ree!"

"Well, Judy O'Ree," said George with a smirk, "I don't give a damn bout your name!
As long as you'll hop on this big ole schlong, to me it's all the same!"

"Not on yer life," yelled little Judy, "I ain't touching that thing!
Keep talking like that, I dare ya now, And you'll be pushing up daisies by spring!"

Big George made a move towards little Judy, and Frank just stood up and looked,
So I took a swing and laid Georgie boy out; sweet Jesus, his goose was cooked.

I cried out "Yee haw!" and made for the door, but Frank wouldn't have that at all.
He pulled out a gun and took aim at me, but all he hit was the wall.

Patrons hit the deck at the sound of the gun, and bunch had run for the exits.
But that aint all folks, I've still got more, hang on for the closing credits.

I pulled out my piece and aimed for Frankie; pulled the trigger and the gun went BAM.
But Frankie has stumbled and fell on the floor; oops, I shot the barkeep: Sam.

Frankie stood up, and took aim again, His gun hadn't shot me dead.
But when I looked down, I screamed out in anger, 'cause he killed little Judy instead.

This time I looked up, and knew where he was, I wouldn't miss him this time.
He looked at my gun, and he turned sheet white, his face was as white as a mime.

My finger pulled tight, and BAM went the gun.
Old Frankie's soul rode off into the sun.

Three lay dead on that fateful night, they all laid down for a dirt nap.
All of that carnage for one simple reason: because Judy couldn't shut her trap.

Author's Note

Fooling around a wee bit. Thoughts greatly appreciated.

Reviews

[richom]

This is very impressive, Will. A very long narrative strictly from your imagination. (I assume you've never been in a Deadwood bar.) Excellent rhymes and a good cadence for most of it until the last two couplets. Meter and cadence are difficult to maintain when writing long lines, and maybe you weren't trying for cadence. Which is perfectly all right; as you know, not all poems are metered. Some readers might find your use of the term mongoloid offensive. You, however, have the right to write what you wish so long as you don't mind disapproval by some. I keep referring to your age, but again quality of writing like this is remarkable for one so young. Richard

[Will]

I really felt like chopping those lines, but I could not do it without losing something, so I left it. I regularly use the word mongoloid to describe big, large men, so I don't mind a bit of backlash. I appreciate your wonderful reviews, Rich, as they really help me to improve.

[Rita L. Sev]

This is an entertaining and vivid tale - reads like an old country song. Enjoyed!

[Will]

Definitely going for something like "A Boy Named Sue." Thanks, Rita.