Bubba’s Heaven
Since we Conchs have
always lived in
Paradise,
When we die where will
we go?
It will have to have
lots of Sunshine,
Blue Skies and please,
no snow;
Conch Heaven will have
to have coconut trees
and swaying Palms,
With a soft ocean breeze
as well,
All the snow and cold
from way up North,
Will be appreciated more
in hell;
I’m talking about Conch
Heaven,
That special place where
“Bubba’s” meet,
Where you see conchs
sitting on their front
porch,
As you walk down every
street;
Each house will have a
white picket fence,
In every yard a Key Lime
tree,
When you hear someone
yell “Bubba”
It could be you or me;
Conch Heaven must have
good Fishing,
Yellow tails and Grouper
too,
Throw in a couple of
crawfish,
Even a red mouth Grunt
will do;
Grits and Grunts and
black eye peas,
Sugar Plantains and Key
Lime Pie,
If Heaven don’t have our
favorite foods,
We’ll just refuse to
die;
If the Conchs could
choose, where Heaven
would be,
It won’t be on some high
Heavenly ridge,
They’d just have St.
Peter install the
“Pearly Gates “
On the old Stock Island
Bridge.