The effeminate man is a weak poultiss.
He is a kross between root beer and ginger pop with the cork left out ov
the bottle over night.
He is a fresh water mermaid lost in a cow pastur, with his hands filled
with dandylions.
He is a tea-kup full of whipped sillybub--a kitten in pantylets--a sick
monkey with a blonde mustash.
He is a vine without enny tendrills--a fly drowned in sweet ile--a paper
kite in a ded calm.
He lives as the butterflise do--noboddy kan tell whi. He is as harmless
as a cent's wuth ov spruce gum, and as useless as a shirt button without
enny button-hole.
He is as lazy as a bread-pill, and has no more hope than a last year's
grasshopper.
He is a man without enny gaul, and a woman without enny gissard.
He goes thru life on his tiptose, and dies like colone water spilt on
the ground.