Redneck Hillbilly - with "Adagio"

We had love and a repossessed single-wide trailer on top of a molehill, formerly a landfill, with wall-to-wall linoleum and a communal outhouse. Our septic tank was boiling over as if ready to roll over where Grandpa was planted in the okra patch. His life revolved around three things, getting food on the table, working and getting drunk. One of his famous sayings was “A fella who ain’t got a job and can’t take care of himself can just go to hell for all I care.”  
 
It was covered by a green froth rising above the town making it impossible to follow the pickleball in flight over the net. Granny had just been released from the correctional for women. She was convicted of impersonating Stormy Daniels at Feed & Grain Store. Well, to be fair they had nothing in common. At least, for all that I know, I'm not Grandpa.  
 
For income, we sold tie-dyed chicken at a kiosk on the side of the road. First we had to catch them and then murder them by diplomacy, extracting the heads, then soaking the aforementioned cadaver in bleach. Then putting them in a rinse cycle with the ringer speeded up to overdrive. We tested our theory on our neighbor's mule. Tied-dyed-mule.  
 
Then along came the fourth of July and we sold 5 dollars "booming chickens." It ain't easy to stick dynamite up a chicken’s ass and it does cause a disturbance especially when the chickens are breaking the law and screaming in a quiet zone and passing semitrailers. At first, we almost struck it rich, those first booming chickens were a hit, quite literally, that is, until the sheriff showed up, his face red with fury questioning about the noise and the flying feathers covering the hill all around. I guess he wasn’t a fan of snow.  
 
We finally made it "big time" with karaoke chicken. Not only that but we taught the chicken. how to tap dance and entered on the "Chickens have Talent" TV show. They made it to the semifinals, going up against a chicken that knew how to fly. So we made sure our chicken practiced well, but even then Simon Cowell apparently didn’t like the idea of a chicken dancing better than him. The crowd didn’t take kindly to our chickens’ performance either, and things took a wild turn when they stormed to the stage, stole, and feasted on them. Now our chickens can tap dance in their stomachs instead.