By J.D. Moss
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack’s mother beats him with a stick.
Little Bo Peep lost he sheep.
She found their bones in a heap.
Oh, little Jack Horner,
was picked up by the coroner.
He took all his drugs that day,
Though he did die high, they say.
And the good little fairy
Well, just today he died of AIDS.
Now no one believes in fairy tales.
Only what they read in the trades.
We once could believe in make-believe
Now, no belief is our relieve.
From “Sun Don’t Shine on Me.”
Copyright 1989 by J.D. Moss