I've traveled up and down this land
And crossed it in a hundred ways,
But somehow can not understand
These towns with names chock-full of K's.
For instance, once it fell to me
To pack my grip and quickly go—
I thought at first to Kankakee
But then remembered Kokomo.
"Oh, Kankakee or Kokomo,"
I sighed, "just which I do not know."
Then to the ticket man I went—
He was a snappy man, and bald,
Behind an iron railing pent—
And I confessed that I was stalled.
"A much K'd town is booked for me,"
I said. "I'm due to-morrow, so
I wonder if it's Kankakee
Or if it can be Kokomo."
"There's quite a difference," growled he,
"'Twixt Kokomo and Kankakee."
He spun a yard of tickets out—
The folded kind that makes a strip
And leaves the passenger in doubt
When the conductor takes a clip.
He flipped the tickets out, I say,
And asked: "Now, which one shall it be?
I'll sell you tickets either way—
To Kokomo or Kankakee."
And still I really did not know—
I thought it might be Kokomo.
At any rate, I took a chance;
He struck his stamp-machine a blow
And I, a toy of circumstance,
Was ticketed for Kokomo.
Upon the train I wondered still
If all was right as it should be.
Some mystic warning seemed to fill
My mind with thoughts of Kankakee,
The car-wheels clicked it out: "Now, he
Had better be for Kankakee!"
Until at last it grew so loud,
At some big town I clambered out
And elbowed madly through the crowd,
Determined on the other route.
The ticket-agent saw my haste;
"Where do you wish to go?" cried he.
I yelled: "I have no time to waste—
Please fix me up for Kankakee!"
Again the wheels, now fast, now slow,
Clicked: "Ought to go to Kokomo!"
Well, anyhow, I did not heed
The message that they sent to me.
I went, and landed wrong indeed—
Went all the way to Kankakee.
Then, in a rush, I doubled back—
Went wrong again, I'd have you know.
There was no call for me, alack!
Within the town of Kokomo.
And then I learned, confound the luck,
I should have gone to Keokuk!