Bib Ballads

Excerpt

GOOD-BY BILL

Dollar Bill, that I've held so tight
Ever since payday, a week ago,
Shall I purchase with you tonight
A pair of seats at the vaudeville show?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"Look at his shoes! We must buy a pair.")

Dollar Bill, from the wreckage saved,
Tell me, how shall I squander you?
Shall I be shined, shampooed and shaved,
Singed and trimmed 'round the edges, too?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"He hasn't a romper that's fit to wear.")

Dollar Bill, that I cherished so,
Think of the cigarettes you'd buy,
Turkish ones, with a kick, you know;
Makin's eventually tire a guy.
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"Look at those stockings! Just one big tear!")

Dollar Bill, it is time to part.
What do I care for a vaudeville show?
I'll shave myself and look just as smart.
Makin's aren't so bad, you know.
Dollar Bill, we must say good-by;
There on the floor is the Reason Why.

There's been a young stranger at our house,
A baby whom nobody knew;
Who hated his brother, his father, his mother,
And made them aware of it, too.

He stayed with us nearly a fortnight
And carried a grouch all the while,
Nor promise nor present could make him look pleasant;
He hadn't the power to smile.

He cried when he couldn't have something;
He cried just as hard when he could;
Kind words by the earful but made him more tearful,
And scoldings did just as much good.

He stormed when his meals weren't ready,
And when they were ready, he screamed.
He went to bed growling, got up again howling
And quarreled and snarled as he dreamed.

He's gone, and the child we are fond of
Is back, just as nice as of old.
But I hope to be in some port European
The next time he has a bad cold.

AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE

My son, I wish that it were half
As easy to extract a laugh
From grown-ups as from thee.
Then I'd go on the stage, my boy,
While Richard Carle and Eddie Foy
Burned up with jealousy.

I wouldn't have to rack my brain
Or lie awake all night in vain
Pursuit of brand new jokes;
Nor fear my lines were heard with groans
Of pain and sympathetic moans
From sympathetic folks.

I'd merely have to make a face,
Just twist a feature out of place,
And be the soul of wit;
Or bark, and then pretend to bite,
And, from the screams of wild delight,
Be sure I'd made a hit.

He couldn't have a doughnut, and it made him very mad;
He undertook to get revenge by screaming at his dad.

"Cut out that noise!" I ordered, and he gave another roar,
And so I put him in "the room" and shut and locked the door.

I left him in his prison cell two minutes, just about,
And, penitent, he smiled at me when I did let him out.

But when he got another look at the forbidden fruit
He gave a yell that they could hear in Jacksonville or Butte.

"Cut out that noise!" I barked again. "Cut out that foghorn stuff!
Perhaps I didn't leave you in your prison long enough.

"You want your dad to keep you jailed all afternoon, I guess."
He smiled at me and answered his equivalent for "yes."

INEXPENSIVE GUESTS

I wonder how 'twould make you feel,
My fellow food providers,
To have as guests at ev'ry meal
Three—count 'em, three—outsiders.

Well, that's the case with me, but still
I don't complain or holler,
For, strange to say, the groc'ry bill
Has not gone up a dollar.

These guests of ours, to make it brief,
Can't really chew or swallow;
They're merely dolls, called Indian Chief,
And Funny Man, and Rollo.

Perhaps in some respects it's true
That you resemble dad;
To be informed I look like you
Would never make me mad.
But one thing I am sure of, son,
You have a different line
Of humor, your idea of fun
Is not a bit like mine.

You drop my slippers in the sink
And leave them there to soak.
That's very laughable, you think
But I can't see the joke
You take my hat outdoors with you
And fill it full of earth;
You seem to think that's witty, too,
But I'm not moved to mirth....