Classic Poem

Aw , quit yer cryin', kid—I know it's tough,
But dearie, shush; nobody's gone to lynch ye;
Later ye'll find th' cops are square enough;
It's always worse the first time that they pinch ye.

Things ain't so bad. Now there, don't take on so—
The matron won't do nothin' if ye shout, dear.
That's right . . . Now come an' tell me all ye know . . .
Ain't ye got nobody to bail ye out, dear?

Well, well—. But that's a shame. A kid so cute
An' young like youse had never ought to worry.
Gee! if they'd doll ye up, ye'd be a beaut—
Why should ye waste yer life in work an' hurry?

Oh, there is lots o' ways it could be did—
'Course I won't do this much for ev'rybody—
I tell ye what, I'm gone to help ye, kid,
An' I've got infloonce, if my clo'es is shoddy.

S'posin' that I could get ye out o' here—
Now, now; don't take on like a reg'lar baby—
Yer pretty lucky that ye met me, dear.
What's that? No, not to-night. To-morrow, maybe.

Well's I was sayin', when I leave this hole
I'll get my friend to go to work an' help ye—
Don't breathe this here to any livin' soul,
Fer strangers, dear, is jest the ones to scalp ye.

Now, I've the swellest little flat uptown,
An' jolly—somethin' doin' every minute!
There's always some live people hangin' roun';
Ye'll never want to leave when once ye're in it.

There's lots o' dancin'—jest ye wait an' see
The nifty rags I'll get to fit ye, dearie.
Aw, never mind the thanks—wait till you're free;
This gratitood an' sob stuff makes me weary.

Don't worry now, an' things'll be all right;
Ye'll only see th' folks with happy faces.
There'll be no more o' workin' noon an' night,
An' standin' up all day behind th' laces.

Here's the address. Now, don't ye lose it, dear;
An' come right up—don't stop to primp or tidy.
Gee! but it's lucky that ye met me here . . .
Let's go to sleep . . . Good-night . . . an' see ye Frid'y.