Classic Poem

If you want to make good in a Broadway show,
You must have a song that is sure to go.
The sort of refrain that gives you a pain
And drives you insane
When you hear it again.
The orchestras murder it near and far,
It's usually sung by the female star,
The publisher gives her a motor car,
And the chorus goes something like this:

Down by the Erie,
There waits my pal.
Tho' the days are long and dreary,
He declares he'll ne'er grow weary.
Poor John O'Leary,
I'm afraid you've lost your gal,
For she's left you flat, my dearie,
By the Erie Canal.