Dead Hole Diddy

On my way to the deadhole the other day, I was disgusted by my cartload, and decided to sing a song along the way. The song went something like this on that grey-skied morning that allowed the dew to hang on to the blades of rye, fescue, and johnson grass and leaves of clover.

~sung with an Irish lilt

Oh, the grass is heavy laden
with the load I carry
the dead have a hole full of their offal
though it disgusts me I try and parry
the smell wafting along the morning breeze