Taking the veil.
Down upon the Texas plains the folks are full of pep;
and iffin you do easy bruise, you better watch your step!
For Texas folks are eager to maintain their die hard ways;
they'll lynch the nearest varmint that eats donuts with a glaze!
They want no namby pambies and do independent stand;
nobody tells 'em what to do, from Arp to Rio Grande.
Their Governor, Greg Abbott, is a straight shooter fer real;
he always gives the cowpokes quite a fair bodacious deal.
He bristles at the thought of Federales in his hair;
and tells 'em where to go with forceful words and baleful glare.
His mother was a rattle snake, his father a horned toad;
he ain't afeard of nothin' in the sage or on the road.
So when the Federales said to wear a wicked veil,
he rose up on his hind legs and did surely give 'em heil.
"Nobody in the Lone Star state will wear a mask, by Jove!"
he thundered at those bureaucrats -- who hid in their alcove.
"No citizen of Texas will be gagged by such decrees!"
he said in full defiance of the spreading dread disease.
And so the state of Texas went about its bizness great;
sellin' and a-swappin' with no maddening debate.
But strange to tell the virus did not back down in the least,
and Texans caught it like the plague (and like the folks back East.)
Twas nothing but collusion, so the Governor did claim;
folks just had to buck up and not play the doctors' game.
But soon the hospitals were full, and graveyards did prepare
to solemnly partake of their anticipated share.
It came to pass that Mr. Greg his mind was forced to change,
and now the purple riders wear a mask upon the range.
Nobody is to go outdoors without they hang a curtain
over their own mouth and nose, and keep it on for certain.
Even Texas Rangers have to wear the silly things;
which from the hearts of Texans fearful sobs already wrings.
I reckon those ol' microbes think they got ol' Abbott's goat --
but he's already working on a state-surrounding moat!
Texas may be down, but she ain't stayin' there for long --
and she'll be up and runnin' soon . . . or my name's Scuppernong!
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