Her father runs a dray in Buffalo,
That’s what the papers say: I s’pose they know.
I wonder why it always has to be
That everything you think is great before
You know about it, when you get to see
Just how it is don’t seem so grand no more?
I wish I had the forty cents I blew
To get the bunch of posies what I threw
At her that night. I had to gasp almost