One fine day, in the month of May, a dirty old bum came hiking; He sat
down by a pig pen, which was very much to his liking. On the very same
day, in the month of May, a farmer’s son came piping; Said the bum to the
son, “If you’ll only come, I will show you things to your liking. I will
show you the bees, and the cigarette trees, and the gum drop heights,
where they give away kites, and the big rock candy mountains; And the
lemonade springs, where the blue bird sings, and marbles made of crystal;
you can whiff the breeze from the mince pie trees, where the wind blows
fine and frisky; and you can join the band of Rocky Mountain Sam, and
get yourself a sword and a pistol.” The farmer’s son then went along,
listening to the bum’s merry song; and for six months they did travel.
Said the bum to the son, “When I get done, you’re going to be a little
devil.” The punk looked up with his big blue eyes, and then he said to
Sandy, “Now we’ve been a hiking all day long, now gosh darn where’s your
candy? You put a brace on my leg, and showed me how to beg, and you told
me you were my jocker; and you told me lies, when you promised me pies,
and you called me an apple knocker; I’m a goin’ back home, no more to
roam, I’m packing my junkerino; You can bet your lid, that this Hoosier
kid, won’t be any bum’s punkerino.”
* * * * *
Misplaced Eyebrow—“There is a hair in my soup.”
Diplomatic Waiter—“Probably out of your mustache.”
“I never thought of that.”
* * * * *
Clap, Clap, Clap, Hurray!
“How do you like the Volstead Act?”
“I never did care for vaudeville.”
* * * * *