Pansy and me for Coney Sunday noon
To see a perfect lady bump the bumps;
We rubbered at the lions with the chumps
And took the Wellman special to the moon.
She asks me, "Dance?" I answers, "Just as soon,"
And so we clutched and whirled into the gumps,
But every time I went to stir my stumps
They stuck like gum-drops to a macaroon.
"I could die dancing, Danny!" murmurs she.
(I gambolled on her corns, she hollered, "Don't!")
"I could die dancing also" (this from me),
"But if you'll pass me up, I guess I won't."
Just then some lemon-sport observed my glide
And warbled, "Slide, you frozen chicken, slide!"