Ode to a Mexican Stockboy

Ode To A Mexican Stock Boy
To the tune of
“On Top Of Old Smokey”


Down here at the station,
Near old 23,
There works there a stock boy
As fine as can be.

His hair’s black and curly,
His tushie is tight,
His skin is like coffee,
With international delight!

His teeth are as white as
The toilet he cleans,
I love to watch him walk away
In his skin tight blue jeans.

His shirt’s made of spandex,
I’m sure he works out,
Then I start to drooling
And my mind blanks out.

When he comes with his dolly,
All piled up with ice,
His muscles they ripple
As he stacks them up high.

If just ten years older,
Were this gorgeous young man,
I’d run away with him
To old Cun-Can.

I’d bite his burrito,
He’d eat my taco,
And nine short months later
I’d have bam-bin-oooooo!