Forsooth that was a passing lusty clout
That chopped me off with Pansy—don't you fret!
There's quite a blaze inside my garret yet,
And all the Dipper Corps can't put it out.
Gilly the Grip's a pretty ricky tout—
Under the old rag-rug for him, you bet,
When I put on my Navajo and get
One license to unloose my soul and shout.

Perhaps he thinks I'm old Molasses Freight
Sidetracked at Pokey Pond and filled with prunes
Waiting for Congress to appropriate
The nuggets draped around me in festoons.
Wait till I ticket Pansy, then I guess
Slow Freight will switch to Honeymoon Express!