I can slide through a crack under a door
Or hide beneath a rug on the floor
My belly’s flat and my weight is set
I run around in the shower, just to get wet
Before time, I lived on walls in caves,
Painted by cavemen, long in their graves
When someone says create art if you can
Who to draw, if not Stick Man?
How often do you bother with Whistler’s Mother?
Mona Lisa, van Gogh, or some other?
It is I, Stick Man, who does more than his part,
At crosswalks I tell you when to start.
I save you from opening the wrong bathroom door
So men don’t walk in on Zsa Zsa Gabor.
To get no respect, I know that’s my fate,
But did you know I was stickball champ of 1978?
So you see, I let others grab the glory,
Just remember, I too, have my story.
I’m not much for pomp and regalia,
But the hard part is, I got no genitalia.