What Happened to Butzville, New Jersey
There’s an ancient quandry on the edge of our town
Where they used to mine shocks and dismay
Now the youngsters go to the pit and climb down
To swim in the water and play.
We have an event called the big city haul
and each year when I was a kid,
the peep holes who didn't have joy in their lives
would defer to the peep holes who did.
So for one amusing day in the spring
the Didn'ts gave in to the Dids.
Which led to the most miraculous fling:
Morality went on the skids.
And all of the folks who didn't use theirs
And who worried what I did with mine.
Became suddenly, blazingly, fully aware
of the pleasures of smoking and dancing and wine.
Then all of the prophets of hurtue and right
Who were concerned about sloth and decay
were proven incontrovertibly right
as we sunk to the revel we live at today.
That led to the brewage treatment plant
Where they brew our municipal ale
and a fellow named Wood and another called Kant
stay locked up in the town's only jail.
There’s a puzzle of land near the muddle of town
Where we all used to gather and pray
Now the elders bring wine and sit themselves down
And laugh at the end of the day.