ODDS ARE…
A sweet young thing named Sarah,
Was searching for a mate.
And found she had exhausted,
The lower forty-eight.
So North she turned to cast her net,
The land of midnight sun.
In hopes that she could find at last,
That one and only one.
To her delight when she got there,
The place was full of guys.
And hardly any females so
Her hopes were running high.
But all the men she dated,
Were wearing flannel shirts.
Their long and scruffy beards,
Were wild and full of dirt.
They took a bath ,well, now and then.
And drove a beat up truck.
Lived in the woods and came to town,
Each month to try their luck.
Indeed she was surrounded,
By manly rugged men.
And every night she had her pick,
She scored and scored again.
She found out that the odds were good,
Indeed twas fertile sod.
But soon she left Alaska,
Cause all the goods were odd.
