Little Jamie at the Plant

A Ballad of the State of Mississippi. Sung in the Year 2007. The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mooreville Kid that day In polls he was somewhat distant, with but one month more to play, And then when tax swap died at first, and beef plant did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the supporters of the ideas lame. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought if only Jamie could but get the numbers down so scant-- We'd put up even money now despite three votes in favor of the plant. But Eaves preceded Jamie, and following him was Hood. And the former was a lulu and the latter was no good; With beef and monied lawyers their chances were slimmer than a gnat So then there seemed but little chance of Jamie getting past all that. But McCoy let drive an idea, to the wonderment of all, And Holland, so much smarter, smoked a cigar by the wall; And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred, There was McCoy safe from an indictment and Holland speaking no words. Then from 3 million throats and more there rose a confused yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon an ant, For Jamie, little Jamie, was talking about the plant. There was anger in Jamie's manner as he stepped into his place, There was pride in Jamies's bearing and a scowl on Jamie's face. And when, responding to the laughs, he yelled and stomped his feet, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Jamie talking about the beef. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he began to fight with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded as he sweated through his shirt. Then while the angry media flack ground his resume into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Jamie's eye, a sneer curled Jamie's lip. And now the terrible insults came hurtling through the air, And Jamie stood a-lying confidently in haughty grandeur there. Over the candidates poorly shorn locks the irony sped -- "Phil's to blame," said Jamie. "Oh God," the media said. From the benches, bleak with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm waves on a worn and distant shore. "Don't listen, don't listen!" shouted someone in obvious pain, And it's likely they'd have done it had not Jamie talked again. With a frown of constant rage angry Jamie's visage shone; He tried to still the commotion; he bade the charade go on; He signaled to the media and once more the groans flew; But Jamie still ignored it and Bryant laughed, "The beef's all on you." "Talk about the queers!" cried the maddened flaks, and the echo answered queers; But one scornful look from Jamie and the audience thought him weird. They saw his face grow stern and red, they saw his teeth yellow stained, And they knew that Jamie wouldn't let a good lie go by again. The sneer is screaming from Jamie's lip, his teeth are clinched in spite; He pounds with cruel violence his hand upon the table with the mike. And now the candidate winds up his speech and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the absurdity of Jamie's show. Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout; Of course there's plenty of joy in Mooreville -- at last Jamie has struck out. (With the greatest of apologies to Thayer)