The Lower 48

My 'ol pa called me, and he sat me down.
He said, "Son, I've watched you, all over town.
You never seem to know what to do
So's I've writ some things to encourage you.

A man's gotta make his own self-made way.
It's the price of fame you'll need to pay.
Never drink your likker from another man's cup
Or he may slit your ribs and cut you up.

Son, always lay your hat upon the crown
Or your luck'll run out, and you'll run down.
Never strike your match upon your fly
Or you'll scorch your pecker and you could die.

Don't rent no hoss, son; buy your own ride
Always know a good place where you can hide.
When you go to kiss a girl, son, kiss her good.
Don't be no boy. Play the man, like you should.

Give the boss who pays you a good day's work.
Don't let me hear that you play the shirk.
If you're gonna drink fire, boy, swaller it all.
Then when you take a piss, stay in your own stall.

Don't let them banks give you no damn card
Or you're gonna crash, and come down hard.
Don't worry about no fancy, effeminate stuff.
A good soft bed is plenty enough.

Don't play the dandy with no neat-trimmed beard.
Let it grow large, or you'll jus' look weird.
If you're gonna spit, son, do it wild
Or those that see it'll think you're a child.

When you have your own boy, name it for me
So's you'll never forget me, don't you see?
You're my son, and I'm kindly affectioned.
Leastwise it seems so, I truly reckon.

At that point, pa stuffed a five in my pocket
And gave me a tin of wrenches, with metric sockets.
After all these years, I hope I made pa proud
'Cuz I'm the best damn alcoholic, cowboy, 
Mechanic, vagrant, love 'em and leave 'em SOB
In the Lower 48.
Now, ain't that great?