The Star Syndicate

Come down here,
kicked the slickers out the city,
give dogs and cats
telepathy and the vote.
Dogs tossed us a bone: 
gave my cousin a good job,
preacher said twarn't a sin,
workin' for his old coon dog.
Then them star fellers was gone:
stopped by Jupiter
to warn its folk about us,
floored it for Beetlejuice or some such.
Gone from our sky, 
like our music:
Skynrd's 1000-planets
tour sold out fast. 
Thet purple fellow was right sorry
about Bubba, but still 
bought the farm,
liked peach cobbler,
with fence posts.