The Spanish Bandwagon

This poem might not make any sense, but there was a muse behind it.
....so! One day at work, at the Steakhouse in San Marcos Texas, I was going off on some random rhyming spree. My boss took hold of the situation and randomly left. He then promptly returned with a list of about 13 words or so rhyming with..."yule, fool, ghoul, Sewell (a park in SM), rule, tool, etc." He asked me to see if I could make a poem using all of the words. And THIS is the result.

**References- Man named Dan (Frisbee dan from San Marcos) and Sewell Park (where Dan throws his frisbee on a daily basis).

The Spanish Bandwagon:



I am a gypsy, coming from afar,

I will saddle up my mule,

And strap down my guitar,

Bring some presents,

I’ll be a wise man for the yule,



And tell of yule-tide treasure,

Be careful of my guilty pleasure

‘fore a gypsy I come rambling,

I find me a fool,

From which to swindle and swipe,

Cathedrals in Spain are places so ripe,

To find the tourist train,



The kahkis and cameras come to drool,

Taking pictures with their diamond rings

We gypsies, laugh and snicker,

“look at that fool”

and get ‘em wear it stings,



Original Romani, we moved it down south,

Set up shop, and by word of mouth,

set phrases like jipped,

Tip as a rule,

Don’t play the fool,

‘cos gypsies for one,

didn’t stay in school,

they knew how to rule,

the streets and the crowd,

proud we stand,

clad in a black shroud,



We meander and wander,

But we are not lost,

Watch yourself

Before we accost,

This gypsy ghoul

Will sneakily steal your jewel,



Gitanos para la vida,

Drink Sangria, no margarita,

Mischievous tool,

Our eyes flicker so cruel,

harassed and punished

by Franco our King,

for a bit he was cool,

but in the end needed a renewal,



We may be illiterate and smell of dank hash,

But without us you’d life would be so smooth,

A spool of golden yarn,

A pool of crystal clear

Agua for thirst,

Don’t taunt us,

You’ll be cursed



Oh we long for our gruel,

A fuel of mealy porridge

Don’t need no storage,

Cos we own nothing to our name

Play our game and

One-eyed grandmothers walk with a cane,

She’s short and may need a stool

But never never challenger her to a duel,

She’s hard and tough as nails

And can tell the most wicked of tales,



Come along and jump upon,

The band wagon of gypsies,

The traveling circus of gitanos

Around the bosque,

From the south to the north,

We travel back and forth



we pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot

"cowboy up" you wimpy tourist,

we kidnap and ravage and don’t give a hoot,

We’ll kick your ass to Sewell

Park and for you to

Play Frisbee with the man

Who they call Dan,

And we’ll continue on through,

You’ll say I was abducted by the bandwagon,

People will shrug and say who?





We are mysterious,

Never weary

Us we are, a procession

Of music, flamenco,

Lies, and sneaks,

Leave us now,

We’ll glide away blasting

Out in our gypsy shrieks