The Good Old Days.
The hectic, opalescent days,
The hale and hearty days of yore-
When mayhem walked in open ways,
And lynching bees were but a bore;
And lumber-jacks were quarterbacks,
And murder was the football dope;
The bill-of-fate read carpet tacks,
The air was tinted heliotrope.
And strong men battled with a will,
And skulls they squished to horrid mush;
Nor never heard of a soda-grill
But downed their red-Eye with a
rush.
And howled for gallons more of it,
How oft we think of those old times;
As bandeline we smear a bit,
And wish for old and lurid crimes.
To come again and save our souls,
And bring a still for the kitchen sink,
As we doll up like barber poles;
And manicure our paddies pink,
And manicure our paddies pink.
