Classic Poem

(To Annabelle).

Pipe to the tip I'm handing, Kid;
Get jerry to the salve I throw;
Just paste it in your merrywid
While I pull out the tremolo.
This stuff ain't any paper snow —
I never was a bull con gee —
Wise up to this and sing it slow:
You make an awful splash with me.

My line of bunk is like to skid;
(The subject is so smooth — get joe?)
My fountain pen's an invalid;
I can't dope words like L. Defoe
Puts in describing up a show,
But, kiddo, you have put the bee
On father, surest thing you know.
You make an awful splash with me.

Yop, I'm your little katydid;
Just listen to my chirp of woe;
And now I've made my little bid —
You get it? Follow me? Right-O!
If I could shoot like Eddie Poe,
I guess that you'd be h-e-p,
But here's the bet, now cop it, bo,
You make an awful splash with me.

L'ENVOI

Well, this is where the stuff I stow,
According to old François V;
But — once again before I blow —
You make an awful splash with me.