Old Crackerjack Mick was a mighty bloke of hale and hearty kin
And he sired nineteen cowboys, not a cowgirl there within
And, for want of female company, Mrs Crackerjack did lack
But being somewhat up near ninety-eight, her hopes were fading black
Don't get me wrong, her health was fast with a bright, intelligent eye
And, at ninety-eight, she could still swing a hip that could make a cowboy cry
She was tall and fair and buxom, though her hair was dazzling white
And, if Crackerjack Mick was nowhere about, some ambitious cowboy might
Be seen to doff his hat to her and pass the time of day
But it was a dangerous practice unless Mick was far away
There were rumours of an incident that took place a few years back
When some tall, truck-driving cowboy, who'd just hit town in his Mack
Pulled up beside the lady, strolling, taking in the view
And, with leery grin, he's asked her in to take a turn or two
Around the park, you know the drill, but there was a fatal mistake
For he'd tried before, and she'd told him 'No', though he hadn't learned to take
'No, thank you' for an answer from Mick's Missus, fair and true
And he hadn't spotted Crackerjack Mick coming into view
I should tell you now that Crackerjack Mick was five score years and one
But he could toss an anvil, spar ten rounds and take a gnat's eye out with his gun
So this slick, truck-driving cowboy was in a perilous state of being
For he hadn't seen it yet, his view wasn't set on Crackerjack Mick a-seeing
He had a lecherous look on the Missus, for he'd yet to meet his fate
With this hard-boned centagenarian with a blood-lust on his gait
But I digress and I'm sure you'll guess that truckie disappeared
And when last seen, his clock was clean and his head had been de-eared
A few shiny teeth were missing and his finger bit to the bone
For Crackerjack Mick had fought before and he had the skills well honed
But the real point of this saga and the reason for this tale
Was not to tell of the truckie's plight or Mick's short stop in gaol
But, rather, the aftermath, when the Crackerjacks went home
For, after the fight, and in bed that night, Mick became all warm
He started having the sort of thoughts that'd not stirred for a while
And when he looked across at the Missus it was with a somewhat tender smile
And, as she perceived that goofy look, she had a knowing deep and well
After all, she'd given birth to nineteen sons, so she could always tell
When Mick was thinking family, another mouth to feed
But, at one-oh-one and ninety-eight, who'd think they'd want to breed?
Well, I won't go into detail, enough's already said
But, suffice to say, to the break of day, you could hear that creaking bed
But the real surprise is yet to tell for, at eight months and a half
Mrs Crackerjack Mick pulled the neatest trick and threw a cowgirl calf
And Mick, though shocked and somewhat crocked, magnanimous said Oh I'm calm
I just wanted to give the Missus some help around the farm!
Leighton B Watts