Sure Seems Mighty Funny

Folks, It sure seems mighty funny
When a feller's checkin' up
On the things he's done and aint done
'Way back since he was a pup;
And it sort o' makes him wonder
Why it don't work out by rules,
And why livin' and a prosp'rin'
Aint been taught in these here schools.

But somehow I'm not a kickin';
If our days are real complete,
Why we'll have to grin and bear it,
Take the bitter with the sweet.
I aint made a lot o' money,
And I aint been hungry much;
Times I've been a little lazy,
And I've worked to beat the Dutch.

I aint very good at hatin'
And at lovin', guess I'm fair;
'Though I'm past the age for ravin'
'Bout sweet lips and lovely hair.
I aint smart like this here Einstein,
I aint dumb like some I know;
I don't mind a scorchin' summer,
I don't mind a bit o' snow.

I like jokes and things that 's funny,
Like my sides to have to hold;
Heaps o' things to me aint funny,
Hope and Godfrey leave me cold.
Like to go to church on Sunday,
And think of the blessin's had;
But sometimes the things I'm Hearin'
Bound to leave me hoppin' mad.

I aint perfect by a durn sight,
I aint claimin' that I am;
But my dander sort o' raises
When I'm seein' fake and sham.
Folks is folks, that's clear I reckon,
But a notion that I've got
Is that some that thinks they're perfect,
They to others aint so hot.

Times I've listened to a preacher,
Felt a need for somethin' good;
He just nipped around the edges,
I kept waitin' for the food
That would sort o' raise my chin up
And put sand right in my craw;
But he sort o' posed and gestured,
Folks, there ought to be a law.

'Gainst a preacher's soothin' syrup,
Or his friskin' like a feist,
Or his rantin's 'bout religion
When ne's never met the Christ.
He knows heaps about baptizin'
Quotin' scripture, lots o' speed;
But the milk of human kindness
Aint included in his creed.

Then the benediction over,
Out the congregation pours,
And somehow the air seems fresher
Out in God's great out-o-doors.
See the sun a shinin' brightly,
Birds a wheelin' 'cross the sky,
Green grass growin' and the flowers
Seem to sort a take my eye.

And right there I feel like kneelin'
And a thankin' Him above;
For the chance to walk or stumble,
Always knowin' of His love.
Singin' birds furnish the music,
Runnin' waters is the prayer,
All of nature is the preacher
And I worship then and there.

H. B. Austin
May 16, 1952