That buzzes loud and stings.
Oilmen who run in debt, despite their rapid talk,
Not very often come out faster than a walk.
Uneasy lies the face that wears a frown;
No wonder, at the rate crude-oil goes down.
“What are your favorite books?” the gushing damsel cried;
“Bank-books and pocket-books,” the oilman quick replied.
Idle gossip? Oh, no, that isn’t right,
For gossip keeps on working day and night,
Beating a flowing oil-well out of sight.