mere trifles

Driving along the open road to South Kildare.
Paddy Pup is sitting in the passenger seat.
He's singing his own inimitable version of Nutbush, a famous Tina Turner song.
His song goes:

"They call it Snufflebutt.
Oh Snufflebutt.
Snufflebutt city limits.
Dogs are in command in it.
Postmen gotta run through it.
Cats not allowed in it.
You can knock over bins in it.
They call it Snufflebutt.
Wo oh oh Snufflebutt.
Snufflebutt city limits.
Rubber bone outhousies.
Sprinkles on the lamp posties.
Stick throwing subsidies.
Government of and by the puppies
Snufflebutt.
Yo Snufflebutt.
Snufflebutt city limits.
Little ole town.
Made for sniffing around.
With no human laws.
Just perfect for licking paws.
Cos that's what a doggy does,
In Snufflebutt,
Oh Snufflebutt.
Snufflebutt city limits.
Tumbledown jail.
If you get drunk, no tail.
Compulsory to wag in it.
Great to chew a rag in it.
Yeah we call it Snufflebutt,
Oh Snufflebutt,
Snufflebutt city limits."

The expression on my face shows I'm not too impressed.
"If you think you can do any better..." suggests Paddy Pup grumpily.
I need no further invitation.
I sing:

"I study Spanish with Spanishies.
I love my classes.
My teachers are lovely girls,
They've got great asses.
Things are good.
And they're only getting better.
The Iranian proxy army in Gaza,
Will be mounting no more raids.
The future's so bright,
I gotta wear shades."

We drove on in a somewhat awkward silence.
"What's that song about?" enquired Paddy Pup after a minute.
"It's about nuclear war," I replied softly.