Rotten Reeboks

Tune: Clementine

I’ve tried bug balm, lemon air scent
Even spray that smells like pine,
Rotten Reeboks, dirty sweat socks,
Must be something that can cut it
Generating toxic fumes,
Something strong like turpentine.
I’ve seen flies dead-struck in mid-air
Fatal ventures into his room
“Not to worry,” says my father
In my brother’s bedroom closet
“Could be money after all,
Stinkarooning like refuse”
Pentagon might pay a bundle
Dwelt a size 10 pair of sneakers
“For the secret to it all.”
With a smell, you couldn’t lose.
Aging tennies, in a corner
Turning the air a bluish-green,
Hope the county doesn’t visit
They’d condemn us sight unseen