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Show KRAGG1NG My car is on the blink, it's built of tin and zinc, it isn't wunh a eus: but when, as night descends. I gossip with my friends, I boost that grand old buss. In eestaey I say, "it is a splendid1 dray, it fairly splits the , wind; it isn't much for looks; for! pep and speed, gazooks, it has all others skinned. Of winners it's the chief; it's never caused me grief in all its useful years; it fills my soul with thrills when it goes up the hills with a shift of gears." My ear is on the bum, it's works are out of plumb, jits cylinders all mis; it has a brok-en brok-en back, it's wheels refuse to track I my friends are wise to this. Yet pa-itiently pa-itiently they stand and smile while 1 outhand such fairy tales as there; j they know my boast's a fake and yet they dlo not make a reference to cheese. My brags they do not que'' for they have tails to tell of wondrous won-drous cars they own, of knocking records cold, of triumph manifold, to rend a heart of stone. Their cars are worse than mine, they all should stan din line upon the junkman's floor; but still the boys relate achievements ach-ievements high and great, and claim a first class score. We can't all ride in pomp, we can't all proudly romp in shining limousines; and if we're soothed within by boosting cars of tin, oh who would spill the beans. By Walt Mason. |