It’s got ’em, yes, it’s got ’em; they’re loco, one and all. There has
never been as many since the time of Adam’s fall. The man that lives
across the way, the loved one of your soul; the guy who owes you money,
all are loco on the whole. Yes, it’s got ’em. Some are off on trotting,
and some on love and wine; some are off on politics, and some are off on
coin. It’s got ’em; yes, it’s got ’em, in many different ways; the
women’s skirts like trousers are, the men are wearing stays. It’s got
’em.
While alighting from the train at night in your grimy khaki pants, don’t
wince to see your heart’s delight all togged out for a dance; don’t
raise your eyes to look at her; be workmanlike and meek. She smiles on
Major Dickelfer, she fears you’re goin’ to speak. For it’s got her.
You’ll find your kids a-cryin’ ’round the brown-skinned hired girl, the
neighbors all a-pryin’, and your cassa in a whirl; with rats and bits of
finery, with old stockings and old shoes. Don’t go to geetin’ squiffy;
‘twas just the thing you choose. And it’s got you. Don’t fret and fume
about it; take your commissary book, go down and get your groceries, and
bring them to the cook. Then take your kids an’ wash ’em up an’ change
their little frocks; see they get their suppers, then mend your pants
and socks. And don’t let it get you.
If your wife throws cups and saucers about your head at night, don’t
shriek and call the neighbors in to put ’em in a fright. Don’t call on
poor Johannes, and put him in a rage, but fold your arms about your
breast, like a hero on the stage. She’s got it.
If your neighbor’s wife is flirting, don’t run to call police, just
flirt a little bit yourself or go your way in peace. Don’t go to Sam’s
and sit and tell the vultures all she said when you took her for the
auto ride to Panama with “Red.” Or she’ll get you.