I Hate Grass

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This place called Kansas is not the place for I.
What is there to do in this place I hate?
Oh the places I’d rather be than in the grass.

Why is Kansas just meadows of wheat and tall grass?
Only person to talk to is me, myself, and I.
It may be fate but surely this place I hate.

I’ll light a match and burn this place I hate.
Flames oh so high, and the smell of burning grass.
Kansas is gone and no one knows it was I.

I believe it’s safe to say that I Hate Grass.





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