The BABY, lying meek and quiet
Upon the customary rug,
Has dreams about rampage and riot,
And will grow up to be a thug.
The BABY, lying meek and quiet
Upon the customary rug,
Has dreams about rampage and riot,
And will grow up to be a thug.
The TOURIST huddles in the station
While slowly night gives way to dawn;
He finds a certain fascination
In knowing all the trains are gone.
A timid young woman named Jane
Found parties a terrible strain;
With movements uncertain
She'd hide in a curtain
And make sounds like a rabbit in pain.
A gift was delivered to Laura
From a cousin who lived in Gomorrah;
Wrapped in tissue and crepe,
It was peeled, like a grape,
And emitted a pale, greenish aura.
Said a girl who upon her divan
Was attacked by a virile young man:
'Such an excess of passion
Is quite out of fashion,'
And she fractured his wrist with her fan.
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