Or first thing you know in a rut you will go,
And find yourself flat on the ground.
Or if 'tis not you that is flat on the ground,
Your bicycle ruined will be—
There are tacks, broken beer-bottles strewn all around,
And your tire will be punctured, you see.
Fort Wayne is the city of "tags," my dear,
As every taxpayer knows;
Tags on their horses, their wheels, and their dogs,
And tags from their heads to their toes.