It's a sort of consolation,
As I sit, and fume, and frown,
That the greatest botheration
Of my life is out of town.
He who used to grind "She Wore a
Wreath of Roses" every day,
And "Selections from Dinorah,"
And—"Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay."
With his execrable smiling,
And exasperating din,