On every car there's always one fat coot
What goes to sleep and dreams he's paid his fare.
And when you squeak he gets the Roosevelt glare,
And hoots, "I won't be dickied with--I'll shoot!"
Then all the passengers get in and root.
Loud cheers of, "Put him off!" and "Make him square!"
Till Mr. Holdfast with an injured air
Pungles his nick and ends the bum dispute.
It's ever thus on this here rolling ball--
You've got to pop your coin to ride so far.
The yap that kicks and rings a deadhead call
Must either spend or else get off the car.
On Life's Street Railway wealth may cut the cheese,
But Death rings up and says, "Step lively, please!"
V
"There'll be some fancy steps at Car-Barn Hall,"
Gilly the Gripman pipes me off today,
"This won't be any gabberfest--for say!
Nix but the candy goes to this here ball.
You've got to flash your union card, that's all,
To circulate the maze with Tessie May,
And all the Newport push out Harlem way
Will slip on wax till sunrise,--do you call?"
I told him that I pulled the gong for that!
If Pansy would be there 'twas was Me for It.
I'd burnish up my buttons, mop my hat,
Polish my pumps and blow in for a hit.
"All to the Fritz," says Gill, "if you get jolly
Around the curves--you're apt to slip your trolley!"