The Western Ballad of Jack O' Hare

This is a western ballad poem I wrote about my friend the wild hare jack rabbit who lives in my back yard that I call Jack O' Hare.



The Western Ballad of Jack O' Hare



There was a stranger came into town

wearin' a smile and not a frown

big ears was his claim to fame

Jack O' Hare was his name

but Old Butch ran the town

one had to kiss his ass so brown

but not Jack as he went around.



From saloon to barber shop Jack went

his fur wild and unkempt

from butcher to baker

to candlestick maker

he even called Old Butch a faker.



Well that was that

Old Butch screamed, what a rat.

T'wasn't long before the showdown

after Butch's girl did Jack in a blowdown

Screamed Butch, This town ain't big enough for the both of us

replied Jack, if you hurry, you can catch the last Greyhound bus.



Well that was that

next day there was to be a gunfight there was

and an undertaker's special just because...



It was high noon

as Butch held his fork and spoon

what kind of weapons are these, he shouted

as Jack pulled up a carrot recently sprouted

"It's improper for a human to eat with his hands

it only falls to us folk wearing the bunny brands".

So one of Hugh Hefner's girls ate with her hands

while some lucky cowboy grinned lying in the sands.

But I want a fight not a meal

he threw down a banana peel

replied Jack, you're as slippery as an eel.

Cried Butch to the gunsmith, Give me my gun

Said Jack to the baker, give me my bun.



A bun, Butch cried, what are you going to do with a bun?

said Jack, watch butter melt on it in the blazing sun

Butch stepped forward with wrath in his eye

slipped on the banana peel under that clear blue sky

and shot his balls off landing in Miss Maple's apple pie.


Now folks still talk about the day Jack O' Hare came into town

and what Miss Maple found dressed in her dressing gown.



- a poem written by Christopher Van Helsing

Thursday, May 13th, 2010



Postscript to the ballad:

Jack O' Hare still haunts the wild woods of the Van Helsing estate.

As for Old Butch, he travels from town to town etching out a living

singing those old Beatles lyrics,

"I'm not half the man I used to be."