The Yellow Rose of Texas, C'est Moi
I'll teach Emily Dickinson a thing or two about optimism.
Pigs are the things with feathers
That might fly out my butt,
And squeal in perfect harmony,
And don't stop, no matter what,
And heartbreak ease, and PMS;
And tight must be the rope
That could hogtie the little swine
That helped so many cope.
They've cheered me in my darkest hour
When hope would be insane;
Asking nothing but to wallow
In the muddle of my brain.