Am I in bad? upon the tick of nine
Today the Pansy got aboard my ship
And sprung the Trans-Suburban for a trip.
Say, she's the shapely ticket pretty fine!
Next to her pattern Anna Held looks shine
And Lilly Russell doesn't know the grip.
But oh! she's got a deep ingrowing tip
That she must shy at honks like yours and mine.

I says to her, "Fare, please!" out loud like that,
But she pipes, "Fade, Bill, fade! you pinched my fare."
That get-back tripped your Oswald to the mat,
And yet I yelled, "Cough up here, Golden Hair!"
Eh, what? I got the zing from Pansy's orb
Which says, "Dry out now, Shorty,—please absorb!"