Poems and Lyrics by MrDadFire

the crocs of which I now shall speak
are not the ones of which you think
it's not the crocs with jagged teeth
but the shoes you wear upon your feet

now before you make fun of my crocs with socks
you better look down and see what you've got
before you judge for my footsie sins
just look around to see what's in

some folk are seen wearing socks with sandals
some to this day still call that a scandal
they'll stop and stare right down at your feet
like saying "get those darn socks right off of your feet" 

now young folk wear their socks so low
can't tell if they really have any socks on
they think it's a crime for a sock to show
why they bother with socks, I just don't know

now older folk often wear their socks so high
they wear them way on up to their thigh
or white socks with tennies won't often be found
they prefer one color and that's black or brown

now some folk wear no socks at all
they like to keep their feet in the raw
but after sweating all day in the heat
when their shoes come off, boy what a stink

now nerds prefer white socks up to their knees
but never, ever make fun of them you see
'cause when you're old, needing that operation
you'll be asking for that nerd in that situation

some folk wear no socks or even shoes
want to go barefoot the whole day through
that's all okay until a spider crawls near
then you'll ask for my shoe for the spider to smear

now I don't mean to judge anyone you see
for socks or not, it's not up to me
it's up to each one, to their own druthers
to put one foot in front of the other

but as long as I wear my crocs with socks
and you can live with what you've got
don't go 'round making fun of other folks' socks
and I'll just keep on wearing my crocs with socks

There's little brudder sittin on da floor
he fell ova an crawled to da door
den little sista, playin outside
opened da door an made brudder cry

Little brudder said sista hit my head
sista said brudder shoulda bin in bed
little brudder thro a shoe cross da room
sista wopped his head wid a dirty ole broom

Mama sade yall betta quit that nose
I'm reading my bible an prayin to da Lode
with all this racket Jesus can't hear
make Jesus even say he gittin outta here

Den papa came home an rubbed brudder's  head
brudder cried more cause'a his hurt head
papa sade son why ain't ya glad
most times yu happy I rub ya head

Brudder sade papa yu don't know
wut sista bin doin while yu wus gone
sista dunin wopped my po little head
wid da big ole door and da dirty ole broom

Sista said, pa he such a babe
give me a hug don't worry bout him
mama even tode brudder, hush it up
an if he don't, she'd wup his butt

Den all got quiet, sittin down to eat
prayed to da Lode our soles to keep
den brudder started cryin all ova aginn
den sista got da broom
AN-WOPPED-EM-ON-DA-HEAD