To see us now, deceivers Would say this land of beavers Was full of fitful fevers And other chills. On all the passing breezes There's nothing heard but wheezes, With hacking coughs and sneezes, And other ills. The bear, that northern prowler, The 'Oonalaska howler, And every other growler We read about, With us have caught the churning Whose cause is past discerning, The demon that is turning Us inside out. The monster's exultation Is heard throughout the nation, He stops at every station To spread himself; And no one can avoid him, 'Tis useless to deride him, Impossible to hide him Upon a shelf. Whence come those sudden changes, With all their train of twinges, Grim foes of health that hinges On atmosphere? There surely is a reason For this fantastic season, That sets the world a sneezin' About us here. This "rushing" influenza, Just taken for a mensa, Most certainly will cleanse a' Your system, man. It has the knack to stick, too— 'Twould surely turn "Old Nick" blue And draw his toenails quick through His diaphragm. No power can avail, man, To drive him from the trail, man; The patent drugs for sale man, Can never cure. He comes against your will, man, And sneaks around to kill, man; The rippling of his rill, man, Is never pure. It droppeth like the rain, man, Extracted by the pain, man, And driveth one insane, man, To think of it. It robs us of our food, man, And freezes up our blood, man— And sleep! Nary a nod, man, Or wink of it. The old world it's been tearing— Now we must have a hearing; It crossed the strait of Behring— Yes, bound to win. Ah! now it overtakes me, The shivering that shakes me Is one that surely makes the Whole world akin. Across from coast to coast, sir, You wander like a ghost, sir; Every one can boast(?), sir, Of having you. You strike at high and lowly, The wicked and the holy, The poor, and they who roll thee, Fifth avenue! No doubt our friend bold "Fairman", And also John his chairman, Are pulling out their hair (?), man, And looking wild. If influenza has them, My writing will not please them; So, Oscar, pray don't tease them Or get them riled. Gu'tchew! gu'tchew! gu'tchew! man; "Good day, mar ha u diugh, man; 'Sda chuin Le-uiske beatha." That's what I hear around me Wherever Celtic sound be, And also, O confound thee, America! FOOTNOTE: |