My friend, have you heard of the town of Manila,
On the banks of the Pasig River,
Where blooms the wait-awhile flower fair,
And the "some time other" scents the air,
And the soft-go-easy grow?
It lies in the Valley of What's-the-use,
In the province of Let-her-slide.
That old tired feeling is native there,
It's the home of the listless I don't care.
Where the Put-it-off abide.