There has been a time or two, well maybe three or four;
When I’ve hopped off the bed, grabbed my hat, and headed out the door.
As the handle stops it’s turning and with freedom in my sight
A conversation struck me, like a conscious deep and tight.
It was just outside Lincoln, on one last, moonless, starry trip
When I heard the ring, saw the light, coming from good old flip
Spurning fancy phones, I opened her up, saying hello to the call
But a dispatcher didn’t answer, no back east voice at all
“I heard tell you’re a fighter”, is the first thing that she said.
So soft, sweet and tender it flowed like jam on bread.
And sometime before we said goodbye and I put old flippy down
I promised to fight their fight and even play their clown
So, here’s to modern medicine & fancy phones abound
Now my hat lays on the table and Flippy’s not around.