Classic Poem

JAZZES IT UP IN RAGTIME

Mister Horace, won't you come and sit with me;
Play a tune that's made an awful hit with me.
Go and get your fiddle;
?Rosin up your bow;
Here's a little riddle
?That I'd like to know.
So——
Tell me why your music makes me feel so good;
Cheers up everybody in the neighborhood.
I ain't never worried;
?Gee! I'm awful strong
For the grass and cows and chickens,
And my heart beats like the dickens
When I hear you singing that song.
Chorus:

Play me that Integer Vitae Rag;
(It gives me joy.)

Lose your blues and go on a musical jag.
(Oh boy!)

It's the latest, greatest, sort of new sensation,
Watch your step! There's pep in this here syncopation.
Don't it beat creation how it hits you with a slam!
(My honey lamb!)

So play that mysterious, serious drag;
(Oh mister please!)

I'd get delirious if it should weary us and lag—
(I'm on my knees.)

Take my rings and other things, my socks or nightie,
If you'll only play that flighty, Gosh Almighty,
Highty-tighty,
Integer Vitey
Ra-hag!