  Flatbush! Flatbush! Rah! Rah! Rah! See the bobbed-head riding On the bob-tailed car. Flatbush! Flatbush! Rah! Rah! Rah! I saw a big girl staring at my Pa. She was standing in the corner, she was turning in her toes. She must have been a senior—by the powder on her nose. Her hair was bobbed and blond-like and she was someone’s pet, But I went into action with the battlefield all set. Rah! Rah! Flatbush! my mother wasn’t there, But some papas are rather young and need a daughter’s care. And that is why in Flatbush we have organized a guard, Made up of little daughters of the men who work so hard. Some day, of course, I will mature and know a little more, But now I am content to be my mother’s Signal Corps. And mother knows when I go out with Pa, things are O. K., For I belong to the Flatbush Guards—we don’t let father stray. Flatbush! Flatbush! Rah! Rah! Rah! I hold on to father’s hand When we go very far. Flatbush! Flatbush! Rah! Rah! Rah! See the bobbed-head riding on the bob-tailed car. |
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