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Show SONG OF THE BANANA PEEL. Like a bar of the beaten gold, I gleam in the summer sun; I am little, I know, but I think I can throw The fellow ho weighs a ton. I send out no challenge bold. I blow me no vaunting horn. But foolish Is he who treadeth on me He'll wish he'd never been born. Like the flower of the field, vain man Lifts his head at the dawn of the day; But when he shall feel my grip on his heel. Like the stubble he fadeth away; For I lift him high up in the air. With his heels where his head ought to be; With a down-coming crash he maketh hl3 mash. And I know he's clean gone upon me. Men laugh me to scorn on the stand. Where I'm quiet and humble and meek My talent is one, but the deeds I have done. Have made cellar gratings to creak. I'm a red-hot Republican born; And a Nihilist fearless I be; Though the head wore a crown, I would bring it low down, If it sets its proud heel upon me. Exchange. |