only an innocent maid;Many a dude has been knocked on his back,
For just an innocent maid;
Many a doctor has had to quack,
For only an innocent maid;
Many a dollar is won on the track,
For just an innocent maid.
Cho. When Johnny takes her to the altar,
He may think it's for his good,
In his opinion soon he'll falter,
When she makes him split the wood.
Many a cop has left his beat,
For only an innocent maid;
Many a gambler has had to cheat,
For just an innocent maid;
Many a commuter has given his seat,
To only an innocent maid;
Many a lover has known pa's foot,
For just an innocent maid.
Cho. Johnny thinks he's caught a prize,
When he's only been married a week;
But when she feeds him on apple pies,
He feels like taking a sneak.
Did you hear that peculiar toot the fellow with the big horn gave when I finished up?
That means "Rotten" in his low vocabulary. He's got a grudge against me.
Once, when he didn't occupy his present high position, he came to me and wanted me to stake him the price of the horn he just insulted me with.
"What!" says I. "Are you going to learn to be a blower? Don't you think you are nuisance enough already?"
You see, I wanted to save the money. He stood firm though, and I had to cough up.
About a week later he came around looking a perfect wreck. His eye was closed, his head bandaged, and his clothes in shreds.
"What's the matter?" says I. "Couldn't you manage the horn."
"Well, you see, Brother Jones," says he, "I could manage the horn all right, but I could not manage the neighbors."
This same fellow is a bird fancier. He breeds all kinds of birds.
I asked him to blow me to a small hot bird and a cold bottle now that he was so wealthy, and the stare he gave me was so cold that it froze the highball I carry in my pocket flask.
I don't care, though, if I didn't have the hot bird I had a cold bottle.
He has a great flock of homing pigeons.
The other day he bet a fellow named Robinson, that he could select two out of the bunch that would come home no matter where they were taken.
Robinson thought a while, and then said he'd bet they couldn't come home from Coney Island. I held the stakes.
When the birds were selected and put in the basket, Robinson slyly clipped their wings.
The next day the fellow came to me and claimed the bet.
"What!" says I. "Did those birds come home?"
"Sure," says he. "But their feet are awfully sore."
Say, the other night I was coming down from Yonkers in a trolley car.
No, I wasn't loaded. Do you think every fellow who goes to Yonkers, has to get loaded to drown his sorrow? No, I was quite sober.
One fellow got up in a hurry to leave and brought up plump against a stunning Fire-Island Cinnamon-Bear blond, on the platform.
"It's a wonder you wouldn't be careful," says she of the red cranium.
"I am," says he, "but I was dazzled by your head-light."
The ruddy complexioned damsel came in and sat beside me.
In the natural course of events we got to talking and swapped childhood memories.
She told me that she was married, but didn't live with her husband.
"In that case," says I, "you must be a grass widow."
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