Auctioneer like singing

I went to an auction today, one of those low brow rural affairs complete with lots of people sitting on couches sitting on lawns waiting to be sold and getting sweated on. I want to say, "Nobody gonna buy that after your sweaty ass sit on it all day," but this is the midwest, and we don't talk like that I guess. We just think like that. How many people got to walk by you thinking, "Get your sweaty ass on those vinyl chairs, we can wipe those off" until you read minds? And then all the people love to buy them some tools. They still need them a hundred of em even when they 95 years old, and I'm thinking, 'what you need with a hand saw? you rockin' a walker, for fart's sakes. all you look like is a recipe for disaster carrying that saw out to your deluxe leather seat buick sedan,11 years old and only 20,000 miles on it.
and so I wrote a song about it call, "b*#ch, you don't need another weed wacker, less it's going to be for donating to the cemetery."