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Show 'The cAnnual GripeWhen a hearty fellow hails me in the office where I rest,And slaps me on the scapula and hugs me to his breast,And says, "When you compose your stuff, the Muses comb your hair.And jewels dribble from your lips, as you are well aware;Old Horace hangs his humble headâ€"he knows he has no chance,And Samuel Clemens' ghost goes out and kicks its ghostly pantsâ€""I repeat it, when a fellow burbles unto me like this,And presses on my blushing brow a cacophonic kiss,Do I clasp to my bosom, do I fluctuate his fin?No; I look him coldly in the eye, and strongly kick his shin;I spear him with my fountain pen; I bounce upon his bellâ€"For I know he has a Yearbook or a Union Bludge to sell.Oh, oftentimes a gink will come and lean against my garb, And tell me I'm the Beettle's Knees, a Lulu, and a Darb, And babble that he has at home a scrapbook of my stuff, And intimate that life without me would be awful tough, And could he have my autograph, if I have one to spare, Or if not that, a single lock of my ambrosial hair?Or if not that, he'd yipe with joy to have a smile from me,He'd love to tell his children that I smole a smile for he.I do not listen to this guff with eager, avid ear,I merely clutch my wallet and let fall a hasty tear,Then I smack him with my Morris chair, because I know full well,The geezer has a Yearbook or a Union Bludge to sell.Some day a cunning coot will come with convoluted conk,And drape himself upon my desk and sweetly he will honk:"Oh, your prose is quite putrescent and your verse is worse than foul,The lack of subject matter in your stanzas makes me howl,The world has need of willing hands; you ought to stop this shirkâ€"Why don't you quit this life of crime and get some honest work?"I say, some day a cunning coot will gabble thus to me, And I'll be simply snootered, boy, so different it will be. For if the wily salesman so continues with his talk, I'll buy a lot of what he's got just from the nasty shock, But then I'll have to slay him or the secret he would tell, To others with a Yearbook or a Union Bludge to sell.Hal The Hermit |