* * *
The Charity Bazaar
“How much am I offered for this pie?” sang out the auctioneer.
“Six bits,” one youth bid.
“Who will make it eighty? Just imagine, you get the girl and all!”
“Say, mister,” ejaculated the youth, “what kind of pie is it you’re selling?”
* * *
Shed Tears, Brothers
Yep, I’ve quit th’ holdup game,
I’ll hang ’round joints no more.