Fellin' Her Fig Tree

It has grown as high as a steeple.
It has grown as high as a steeple.

Fellin' her fig tree.
Pickin' up pulp on my driveway that once was so clean—
Looks like fig cream.
Each time the wind blows, another bushel rains down, causing more asphalt flaws.
Where's my chainsaw?

Grown high as a steeple,
Well, now the time has come.
Gonna cut it deep till
It cascades to the lawn.

Grab my McCullough.
Prime it and sharpen the chain to cut a swath that's clear.
No one come near!

Look at me workin!
Gnawing through rock-hard wood, sawdust flying everywhere.
Timber! Beware!

Grown high as a steeple,
Too tall, its time had come.
So I cut it deep till
It fell and wrecked the lawn.

I felled that fig tree.
Died like the larch in a skit by the group with snake name,
They of "Grail" fame.
There's my McCullough.
Covered with dust that blew off from the tree that I shaved.
Now I'll repave.

Once high as a steeple—
Now a pathetic stump.
Hold back all the people,
While the wood chipper runs.