MY BLONDE SISTER

As my family and I were returning,
From visiting relatives far away,
Oh boredom now was running rampant,
And really a break we needed today,
As we drove past a farmers field,
Freshly plowed and disced it seemed,
Every 100 yards or so, as if dealed,
Were pickups on their end it was deemed,
My little sister saw them and she asked,
Why are those pickups out in the field,
I said it's a truck farm, you must realize,
They plow the field and plant pickups,
And when it's time they harvest Semis,
Pouring drinks, she dropped both her cups,
I wondered how you got those big trucks,
Amazingly that is truly what she said,
Then as it slowly dawned upon her,
She knew I was messing with her head,
And told me if I called her a blonde,
That she would surely kill me dead.