I don't think Mother chalked me out to win,
To be the steady of her darling child.
She thinks I am a kick-up, something wild,
And no sweet girl should wear my college pin.
She thinks I'm some too piffly with my chin
And my soft prattle simply gets her riled.
I've lost my keys with her, to put it mild,
I don't belong, because I am not In.

Say how, with such an iceberg on the track,
Can I conduct my car to married bliss?
I hoped that I could whistle Pansy back,
And lo! I got a frostbite off of this!
I'd wrastle Death for Her, I'd fight her Pa,—
But stab me if I'll syrup to her Ma!