And mother knows when I go out with Pa, things are O. K.,
For I belong to the Flatbush Guards—we don’t let father stray.
Flatbush! Flatbush! Rah! Rah! Rah!
I hold on to father’s hand
When we go very far.
Flatbush! Flatbush! Rah! Rah! Rah!
See the bobbed-head riding on the bob-tailed car.