"A Strong Kentucky Woman"
She built a "soddy" with strong hands, not as "an empty dress" hovering above the bluegrass.
This here is a pioneer woman like Rebecca Boone, rifle in hand for the mean mountain wolves.
That's how she grew up—smart and proud—but now she must face the wolves of Washington.
Big teeth, big tail, red beams shooting from their skulls, panting with heavy-tongued mouths.
Those wolves don't feast on cans of Spam or Beefaroni for their fine District dinner.
Look at them hairy tails thumping and bumping and killing babies with a twitch.
Missus, you're riding your covered wagon, yelling at those mules, stuck at an Appalachian pass.
McConnell crouches on the cliff above, dumping pails of mud so you'll never leave Lexington.
"I'm gettin' Grimes grimy," he heehaws. "Grimy Grimes! That sorry dirty woman creature!"
You could take him out with your pistol, even a slingshot, if you had less charity in you.
Knock out his eye; blow a hole in his cheek! Go on, cowgirl, distort his every feature!
You've been fighting for this moment.
Ignore those Republicans as they hiss 'Boo!'
They're nothing but slugs on a log and you?
Why, you're a "strong Kentucky woman."