Classic Poem

In ancient days there lived a Turk,
A horrid beast within the East,
Who did the prophet's holy work
As Baba of Jerusalem.
He had a daughter sweet and smirk,
Complexion fair and dark blue hair,
With nothing 'bout her like a Turk
Except her name Kafoozalum.
Chorus:

Oh, Kafoozalum, Kafoozalum, Kafoozalum.
Oh, Kafoozalum, the daughter of the Baba.

A youth resided near to she,
His name was Sam, a perfect lamb;
He was of ancient pedigree
And came from old Methusalem.
He drove a trade--and prospered well--
In skins of cats and ancient hats,
And, ringing at the Baba's bell,
He saw and loved Kafoozalum.

If Sam had been a Mussulman,
He might have sold the Baba old,
And, with a verse of Al Koran
Have managed to bamboozle him.
But oh dear, no, he tried to scheme,
Passed one night late the Baba's gate
And came up to the Turk's harem
To carry off Kafoozalum.

The Baba was about to smoke;
His slaves rushed in with horrid din;
"Mashallah, dogs your house have broke,
Come down, my lord, and toozle 'em!"
The Baba wreathed his face in smiles,
Came down the stair and witnessed there
A gentleman in three old tiles
A-kissing of Kafoozalum.

The pious Baba said no more
Than twenty prayers, then went upstairs,
And took his bowstring from the door
And came back to Kafoozalum.
The maiden and the youth he took,
And choked them both, a little loath,
Together threw them in the brook
Of Kedron in Jerusalem.

And so the ancient legend runs,
When night comes on in Lebanon,
And when the Eastern moonlight throws
Its shadows o'er Jerusalem,
Betwixt the wailing of the cats,
A sound there falls from ruined walls,
A ghost is seen in three old hats
A-kissing of Kafoozalum.