Look out! Don’t touch me, man, I’m sore!
I’m ulcerous—I’m more,
I boil, I fume, I sizzle, I’m
Cantankerous to the core.
A blister that is being shaved,
A wild cat up a tree.
A chestnut-bur with every spur
An exposed nerve—that’s me!
I am the heat that turns to flame
When in Fate’s glass is caught
The world’s choice store of toughest luck
And focused on one spot.
What’s wrong? Why, eighty dozen things,
Each one of which would stall
An ORDINARY man—it’s just
My rotten day, that’s all!
What’s that? Cheer up? Say that again!
No, don’t—just—go away!
I’ve never killed a man before—
I mustn’t start today.