A quiet neighborhood. Not a busy street.
But then one day, new neighbors moved in
And we were left wondering what might have been.
Who moved in to cause us such woe?
Who despite the petitions of the neighbors, would not go.
Was it the mob? The KKK? A terrorist group?
No, it was worse, an improv troop
My parents met them over the fence and mom offered a hand.
The new lady shook it and said “yes and?”
Yes and what? my mother wondered. But then my dad's face grew white
“They are improv comics, run for your life.” My father shouted in fright.
It did not take them long to begin their antics
Leaving us all so scared and frantic.
They stood in the street, stopping traffic, demanding that we be in their skit.
we even threw rotten fruit, but they didn't get deterred a bit.
They pretended to be prisoners on the lamb
They played fake instruments acting like a calypso band
They tried to recruit is for their sketches
Who would deliver is from these comic wretches
My dad said we would never sell the house or be driven forced from our land by people led by a woman who spends half her day being milked like a cow
.
Something has to give but how?
Then something happened to change my dad's mind for all time
.
The comedy troupe built a shelter out back for their cousins, a group of French mimes.
Obsessed my dad watched as a man pretended to be trapped in a box
He couldn't be stopped not even by the cops
When they ruined our backyard pretending to do motocross
My dad said he would sell the house even at a loss
My father was first to move out in the spring
And sold the house to a group of bearded ladies who could not sing.
Soon everywhere there were clowns, clowns, mimes and fools for as far as you could see.
And that is when they changed the name of the neighborhood to Washington, D.C.
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