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aby with the Honolulu hunch-- That will bring Mame to time--I should say yes! Ain't my dough good as Murphy's? Well, I guess! IV O fate, thou art a lobster, but not dead! Silently dost thou grab, e'en as the cop Nabs the poor hobo, sneaking from a shop With some rich geezer's tile upon his head. By thy fake propositions are we led To get quite chesty, when it's buff! kerflop!! We take a tumble and the cog-wheels stop, Leaving the patient seeing stars in bed. So was I swatted, for I could not draw My last week's pay. I got the dinky dink. No more I see the husk in dreams I saw, And Mame is mine some more, I do not think. I know my rival, and it makes me sore-- 'Tis Murphy, night clerk in McCann's drug store. V Last night--ah, yesternight--I flagged my queen Steering for Grunsky's ice-cream joint full sail! I up and braced her, breezy as a gale, And she was the all-rightest ever seen. Just then Brick Murphy butted in between, Rushing my funny song-and-dance to jail, My syncopated con-talk no avail, For Murphy was the only nectarine. This is a sample of the hand I get When I am playing more than solitaire, Showing how I become the slowest yet When it's a case of razors in the air, And competition knocks me off creation Like a gin-fountain smashed by Carrie Nation. VI See how that Murphy cake-walks in his pride, That brick-topped Murphy, fourteen-dollar jay; You'd think he'd leased the sidewalk by the way He takes up half a yard on either side! I'm wise his diamond ring's a cut-glass snide, His overcoat is rented by the day, But still no kick is coming yet from Mae When Murphy cuts the cake so very wide. Rubber, thou scab! Don't throw on so much spaniel! Say, are there any more at home like you? You're not the only lion after Daniel, You're not the only oyster in the stew. Get next, you pawn-shop sport! Come oft the fence Before I make you look like thirty cents! VII Mayhap you think I cinched my little job When I made meat of Mamie's dress-suit belle. If that's your hunch you don't know how the swell Can put it on the plain, unfinished slob Who lacks the kiss-me war paint of the snob And can't make good inside a giddy shell; Wherefore the reason I am fain to tell The slump that caused me this melodious sob. For when I pushed Brick Murphy to the
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