Here we are in the soup kitchen

'cause our home is buried in dust.

We can't make any payments—

We've gone bust.

Dust bunnies abound,

We travel from state to state.

They follow us around,

Which is why we must migrate.

I need me some money,

But I can't get a job.

They say, "WE DON'T WANT YOU!!"

Maybe I'll join the mob…

Charities do their best,

But it just won't cut it.

Now there's all these "letters,"

And that helps a bit.

I'm not sure why they call me "Okie,"

"Arkie" would be more apt…

It doesn't make much difference.

(I think they're all cracked!)

I'm moving 'round 'cause of the Dust Bowl,

I still need me a job…

Could've used some Pledge back then,

But No! I'm just a slob!

Written with my magical mindmate twin.