I keeps a butcher shop, you know,
Und in a stocking stout,
I put avay my gold and bills,
Und no one gets him oudt.
If in der night some bank cashier
Goes skipping off mit cash,
I shleep so sound as nefer vos,
Vhile rich folks go to shmash.
I court dot vidder sixteen months,
Dot vidder she courts me;
Und vhen I says, "Vill you be mine?"
She says, "You bet I'll be!"
Ve vos engaged—oh, blessed fact!
I squeeze dot dimpled hand;
Her head upon my shoulder lays,
Shust like a bag of sand.
"Before der vedding day vos set,"
She vispers in mine ear,
"I like to say I haf to use
Some cash, my Jacob, dear.
"I owns dis house and two big farms,
Und ponds und railroad shtock;
Und up in Yonkers I bossess
A grand big peesness block.
"Der times vos dull, my butcher boy,
Der market vos no good;
Und if I sell"—I squeezed her handt
To show I understood.
Next day—oxcoose my briny tears—
Dot shtocking took a shrink;
I counted out twelf hundred in
Der cleanest kind o' chink.
Und later, by two days or more,
Dot vidder shlopes avay;
Und leaves a note behindt for me,
In vhich dot vidder say,—
"Dear Shake:—