Sort of a ballad
Davy Crockett's
lost in the woods
with a pig in a poke
and a bill of goods;
he went out hunting
for the Cisco Kid
and ended up ashamed
of whatever he did.
Baby, baby,
beat my heart,
snap its strings
and make it smart;
New York City's
floating in air:
is it always this way
everywhere?
Baby Face Nelson
and Abraham Lincoln
went into the bar
and came out stinkin',
and Rip Van Winkle
has a new disguise:
a riverboat gambler
with a pack of lies.
Mama, mama,
lift my basket:
looks like Chicago's
blown a gasket.
All these people
would be better off dead
than trying to live
on the devil's bread.
There's plague back east
and dust out west,
floods down south
and the north's depressed;
the cargo's vanished,
the wheels are gone:
this wagon's broke
and we won't see dawn.
Father, father,
shoot my wad,
crack my whip
and bust my sod:
San Francisco
fell into the sea,
but nobody noticed
except for me.
-- unpublished, indented stanzas
should be in italics
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