Damphoolishness
The woodry-blee pipes oolie-goo,
While on the brinkers grimes the moo.
God save the King, the soldiers cried,
And then they took a trolley ride.
A rooster crowed upon the hill,
His name was William—she called him Bill.
’Twas bitter cold at Valley Forge,
But nothing ever rattled George.
The berries were growing on the vine,
Three times thirteen is thirty-nine.
* * *
Out in the kitchen a maiden fair
Plucked from the hash a golden hair.
* * *
Woman’s hair—beautiful hair,
What words of praise I’d utter;
But, oh, how sick it makes me feel
To find it in my butter.
* * *