Next, she starts in on the neighbors; tells us all
their private cares,
While we have the fun er knowin’ how she talks of our affairs;
Says, with sobs, that Christmas comin’ makes her feel so bad, for, oh!
Her Isaiah, the dear departed, allers did enjoy it so.
Her Isaiah, poor henpecked critter, ’s been dead seven years er more,
An’ looked happier in his coffin than he ever did afore.
So she sits, her tongue a-waggin’ in the same
old mournful tones,
Spoilin’ all our quiet evenin’s with her troubles an’ her groans,
Till, by Jude, I’m almost longin’ fer those mansions of the blest,
“Where the wicked cease from troublin’ an’ the weary are at rest!”
But if Sister Simmons’ station is before the Throne er Grace,
I’ll just ask ’em to excuse me, an’ I’ll try the other place.
* * * * *
“THE FIFT’ WARD J’INT DEBATE”
Now Councilman O’Hoolihan do’n’t
b’lave in annixation,
He says thim Phillypynos air the r-r-ruin av the nation.
He says this counthry’s job is jist a-mindin’ av her biz,
And imparyilism’s thrayson, so ut is, so ut is.
But big Moike Macnamara, him that runs the gin saloon,
He wants the nomina-a-tion, so he sings a different chune;
He’s a-howlin’ fer ixpansion, so he puts ut on the shlate
Thot he challenged Dan O’Hoolihan ter have a j’int debate.
Ho, ho! Begorra! Oi wisht that ye ’d
Ho, ho! Begorra! ’Twas lovely, Oi declare;
The langwudge, sure ’t was iligant, the rhitoric was great,
Whin Dan and Mack, they had ut back,
At our big j’int debate.
’T was in the War-r-d Athletic Club we had ut
fixed ter hear ’em,
And all the sates was crowded, fer the gang was there ter cheer ’em;
A foine debatin’ platfor-r-m had been built inside the ring,
And iverybuddy said ’t was jist the thing, jist the thing.
O’Hoolihan, he shtarted off be sayin’, ut was safe
Ter say that aich ixpansionist was jist a murth’rin thafe;
And, whin I saw big Mack turn rid, and shtart ter lave his sate,
Oi knew we ’d have a gor-r-geous toime at our big j’int debate.
Thin Moike he tuk his tur-r-n ter shpake, “Av
Oi wance laid me hand,”
Says he, “upon an ‘Anti,’ faith! Oi’d make his nose ixpand;
Oi ‘d face the schnakin’ blackguar-r-d, and Oi’d baste him where he shtood.
Oi’d annix him to a graveyard, so Oi would, so Oi would!”
Thin up jumped Dan O’Hoolihan a-roar-r-in’ out “Yez loie!”
And flung his b’aver hat at Mack, and plunked him in the eye;
And Moike he niver shtopped ter talk, but grappled wid him straight,
And the ar-r-gymint got loively thin, at our big j’int debate.