Where I'm from is the land of the sticks,  where barbed wire leaves a trail for hicks. Where country folk aren't afraid to throw bricks, course we play tricks.     

Are cars like busy broomsticks? Where things just don't unstick?

Where politics lead to conflicts

that ignite the wicks for candle sticks

And burn the strips used for are ships.    

Raised off cake mix, we never messed with chopsticks.

So save your clips for when you’re home eating chips.

Therefore we grip…,wouldn't you know it began to slip

Starts like a crack of a whip,out herewith the hicks.

You flick at the flys and pick at the ticks

using only toothpicks.We, always find the fix.  

With some clever tricks,  or a healthy lemon mix,

you could find a testatrix and share picnics as I’m  

calling you back into the sticks.