Have you heard the Yankee threat to suppress the Cigarette?
Ten dollars tax per thousand—as the French would say, par mille—
Is the scheme proposed, forsooth, to protect the Yankee youth
From poisons just discovered in his papier pur fil!
Such things might well have been in staring emerald green,
Or even in the paler tint that's christened "Eau-de-Nil,"
But it simply makes one sick to imagine arsenic
Is lurking in the spotless white of papier pur fil!
Strange the smoking French survive! Surely none should be alive;
Fair France should be one mighty morgue from Biarritz to Lille,