  I WENT to see the show last night, the one She’s playing in, you know, but all the fun I thought I’d have was spoiled, confound the luck, I bought a forty-cent bouquet to chuck Down at her when the second act was done. I got a seat in front, all right, and, oh! How grand she looked away down there below! I thought of angels every time she’d look Up at the gallery—but when I let My flowers tumble down the villain took And give them to the putty-faced soubrette! I wish I was the hero of the play She’s actin’ in and had the chance to lay Her head agin my buzzom every night And knock the villain down and hold her tight— I wouldn’t ask to have a cent of pay. And when she’d look up at me sweet and proud I’d feel so glad I’d have to yell out loud: I’ll bet the knock I give the villain when I come to rescue her would make him grunt. And when she wound her arms around me, then— Oh, blame it, there’s Old Morton howlin’ “Front!”
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