I've been watchin' folks that hollered till they's purple in th' face,
Claimin' that their nat'ral enemies was all th' human race.
Kep' on noticin', and purty soon their guess was blame near right,
For they al'ays was commingled in some sort o' gen'ral fight.
Thankful I don't see things that way, though I'm not no haloed saint;
But I've never been a kicker, an' I'm mighty glad I ain't.
Thank you ladies and gentlemen.
I knew the noble sentiments expressed in those verses would take your hearts by storm.
And please forbear showing your appreciation by the customary liberal supply of ancient hen fruit, tomatoes, and cabbage flowers.
I want you to understand that this is no donation party.
You doubtless saw that I was a little horse—in other words, that I have something of a colt this evening.
Now, I'm pretty good at making excuses myself, but I give the cake to Reddy Moriarty.
You see, he's a fellow working on the subway, under an old friend of mine, a Maj. Dickerson.