Play records . . . speak of Dizz and Duke And dance wherever there's a Juke. Chameleon-like, they change and vary And suddenly grow up . . . and marry!
He always said: "I'd rather be dead Than be a small toad in a big puddle. I like the huddle and power I have in a small town" . . . Then, (with a black frown) "I prefer to be a big toad in a little puddle"! The only thing that struck you As you watched his steam-roller tactics down his narrow road He'd somehow . . . begun to resemble his own model . . . The big toad!
Some ladies love to sleep alone In solitary state Chaste . . . unruffled and serene: This . . . I . . . hate!
Whenever it is "three below" I wish myself in Mexico Or dancing with a Hottentot Or anywhere where I am not!
After holiday food I feel so hell-ry I long to subsist On tea and cel'ry!
Why is it When the wind blows I get a red nose Some gals get all dewy-eyed And fresh . . . and sort of "jeune fille" You should see me!
The conversation murmurs in a steady "thrum" With little quick arpeggios Of treble laughter. The tables are arranged In precisely The same order. Nothing is changed Save the day . . . and the year . . . And the certain knowledge You'll not be here! Fair Warning It may be wisdom, dearest man, To subjugate me while you can. Because some day I do intend To seek the roadway's farthest end.
"I'll put a little 'hex' on you To make your drinks a bitter brew If you forget me!" This, I vowed And all you did Was laugh aloud.
"Perched on an ice cube In your glass I'll scowl and say; "A pretty pass! To snatch a lady's heart ... and run . . . Egad! me lad! It isn't done!" Silly of me, my Sweet, to taunt you With childish threats of how I'd haunt you! But still . . . I tell you, if I could O darling heart . . . of course I would!
Color, that is like the diffusion Of the bronze gong And little tinkling cymbals. Highlight on hands and cheekbones Flying Oriental brow Smooth hair!
Points . . . piquant as almond buds Costumes like Chinese lanterns Swaying . . . Belling in . . . and out. Pity sleep in the curve of her palms Anger in the thrust of her shoulders. This is a mask Come to life And dancing!
Come, my Sweet Let us walk in the sleet (If you can keep your feet!)