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.