I’ll appear against or for you; either side without regard,
I can tell my favorite rooster by his claw marks in the yard.
Two wings this fowl possesses; o-“pinions” two have I
There’s one for you, or one for him, for any who will buy.
Like him, I love to “scratch” in dirt. I’m crooked as his walk,
I “plume” myself, and like my hens I cackle when I talk,
I’m “hatching” out a plot just now, really it’s very funny,
It’s all a guess—ridiculous—but then, I need the money.
Some lyrics found their way into those columns. Here is only one of them, for I fear your interest, like the newspaper itself, has ceased: