We hiked up a canyon and rapped our way down,
stemmed through cold water and jeeped back to town.
With four- wheeled machines the desert got ripped
until F= MA made blood from Barbs head drip.
Upstream and downstream narrow canyons got waded
and patrons of Whiptail disappointed and jaded.
Busses were ridden, also a horse Barb called George
as others climbed up high to gaze down the great gorge.
Cactus juice cocktails sipped deer-side by dark
Barbo and Ribo, Carbo and Libo, did Zion the park.