Turn Right At The Sign of The Dead Raccoon


she turned to look me square in the eye…

“you best be going off on this road”

and pointing to the map, there sitting in my lap

why, this is the story she sowed…


“turn right at the sign of the dead raccoon

and follow this road that is long

and sing that old Irish anthem you sing

and you’ll be there ‘fore you finish that song.”


so i took my map and i took up my keys

and i traced long the red road divide

and up and down this ol’ car went round

to the top of Potts Mountain side.


but the car it was shaking as i kept up my snaking

round and round- oh she went

till the car was baking and i felt like breaking

as my nerves like gunshells were spent


till the top i saw and the sound of the caw

of a crow of some gigantic size

 let me know i was there sitting hard in my chair

with a breather ‘fore descending that rise


so i prayed a couple prayers, and i prayed i would not fall

and i turned the car to descend

wiggling around as the bends go slowly down

till at last coming to a great mighty bend


there that old road slipped down into town

and the sign said i had made it to the West

so i slowed down a tad, seeing it was so bad

with a side full of potholes at best


till down on the plain as i sped up again

i found that the road broke in two

so i noticed the right opening up straight

and i drove on the road that was blue


it was there on the map, a mighty blue line

unlike that old red one i’d found

and this narrow trail always had a guardrail

not a thousand foot fall to the ground.





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