The happy thoughts I used to think before
Are busted up forever. I appear
To always land somewhere back in the rear—
The sound of telegraphin’ makes me sore.
I hope I’ll have a million bucks some day
And be the landlord here, and she will set
There, in the corner, telegraphin’ yet;
And when I pass she’ll look at me and say
All to herself she wished she knew some way
To not be married, and I’d stop and get