Smells of Victory

I think of DeBere's when I think of my hat
And sothels and botches or something like that
But when you me asked of what is your shirt
I couldn't help think of something but dirt

It's brown and it's sticky (when added to glue)
And has a spice flavor inside of your stew
If left out the door for time in its own
To find it you'll need-to-know where the wind's blown

And think of the trees which can't speak for themselves
Which harbor oft times the chickens and elves
They couldn't stand tall if not for the dirt
And might as well to some small lichen revert

It's good too for things that come in late May
That seem the be crawling round every which way
But thinking a while on-its rich properties
We might think upon what it does in the seas

It settles down slow unless washed up on shore
Which when washed up its like a dude from the Corps
He's in for a while where he's alien
And wishes to float back to where he hence'd been

Cause soil has feelings as few people know
As can be quick seen if you dig in the snow
But that's not the story we're thinking upon
All frozen and hard there on your front lawn

For something I think that's pretty well... quirky
Is dirt likes to make things really quite mirky
And don't you be fooled that it's only in water
That happened one time to an helpless old otter

He-thought he was swimming still inside the lake
But his self was ashore quite far out for a break
Yet this mirk that he saw while up out on the ground
Confused him..... he died thinking he'd drownd

Now that's not to say that dirt is a killer
As that could give rise to some new action thriller
It's kindof inert and it doesn't do much
Except sit there and look or something or such

So like I was saying mirk gravitates
To more than just water or Salah's bad dates
So play in the dirt.. but with full respect
Of its powers to set or destroy or protect

What else don't you know about this pleasant stuff?
When hot it will burn you. I think that's enough.