The Hat

All my life I’ve wanted a hat
I tried them all, big and small
black and white, round or flat
cheap or dear, I felt they all
just made me look a total prat
If pride comes before a big fall
maybe I shouldn’t blame the hat

Left field thinking, out of the box
I decided to ask for one as gift
instead of boring half-priced black socks
I asked for a titfer to give me a lift
my kids would get me a cool lid that rocks
was my smart thinking if you get my drift

So with Santa on board and suitably primed
This last Christmas past, he did his bit
Christmas morning beautifully timed
I unwrapped this oh so cool bit of kit
Battered, rumpled and a little bit grimed
Instead of a prat I looked like a tit

But what you see is just what you get
so I decided that I’d push my luck
and live with an image you can’t forget
gathering up my intestinal pluck
I’d make like a cowboy without a regret
Or an inter-state driver who’s misplaced his truck

In my fantasy I’m a cool Jimmy Dean
or a cheap Paul Newman down on his luck
a Suffolk cowboy without a bean
who though he may look like a real dying duck
comfortably rounded and not lean or mean
is a rebel who don’t give a real flying fuck

One thing from all this is that
Wayne and Eastwood were not walking tall
ramrod-backed heroes primed for combat
when gunslingers’ threats they would call
they were simply trying to keep on their hat
not being rough tough or cool. Not cool at all