Classic Poem

O could I bid some genie,
To bear me far away,
Where I might get a good square meal,
And red-bugs have no sway.

True, I get lots to eat and drink,
But oh, it is so rough;
When I get hold of something nice,
I can hardly get enough.

But there these pies and " tater poons, "
When they are made up right
Leave old man Cox's " iron clads, "
Away back " out of sight. "

The biscuits — O well, I suppose,
They have their uses, for,
What splendid bombs and cannon balls,
They'd make in case of war.

But with their properties as food,
I would not like to fool;
For from their looks I really think,
They'd kill a Texas mule.

It is the job of jobs to teach,
A colored country school;
I almost side with men who say,
The negro is a fool.

He never seems to understand,
A simple thing that is said;
Oh! if there is anything opaque
It is a " nigger's " head.

I tire of country scurry,
I tire of hog and greens;
I'd rather eat on A.U. bull,
And take in city scenes.

These country dudes and dudesses,
They make me feel so dull;
I'd think myself in clover now,
To sport the old " mogul. "

O, give me back my city-life,
And everything it means;
E'en though I board at old A.U.
And weekly dine on beans.