Brick, Brick, Brick

Brick, brick, brick, brick, brick, brick, brick,
Some people think that I am sick,
Stacking bricks that is my kick,
And with cement I make them stick,

Gypsum, sand and water too,
Pour it in and stir it through,
As it sets my hands turn blue,
And for my bricks it is the glue,

Now I have a mortar fine,
Layer it right down the line,
Grab some bricks I never whine,
A few more bricks ‘fore break at nine.

Now I’m back its go, go, go,
Won’t stop ‘til the whistle blow,
Ask me why, I’ll let you know,
This is how I make my dough.

Grandpa bricked so did my paw,
Grandma did and so did maw,
So far back you’d drop your jaw,
Back then their bricks were mud and straw.

Even in Egyptian day,
Pyramid the bricks they’d lay,
Out of sandstone so they say,
Heavy bricks two tons they’d weigh.

So I have to carry on,
Sister, brother, daughter, son,
Bricking work is never done,
But what the heck it can be fun.

Peter Lowell Paulson
May 5, 2011