Joyride and the girls ride with you;
Stroll, and you stroll alone,
For this is the day of the damsels gay,
Who consider the stroller a drone.
Feast, and the girls feast with you;
Fast, and you fast uncheered.
For they like to dine and drink rare wine,
And to dance when the floor is cleared.
Flirt, and the girls flirt with you;
Don’t, and they count you slow.
For they play with you, so you must play, too
Or sit in the lonesome row.
Love, and the girlies love you;
Wed, and she is yours for life.
For she does not play in the cabaret,
The one that you make your wife.
* * * * *
We will now sing that new southern ballad of the darkies, entitled, “I’se
got the razor and you’se got the throat.”
* * * * *