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Show 4- a I Walt Mason i THF SPEED FIENDS. In ain I stand protesting to speed fiends as they pass, they seem to think I'm jesting, and give their boats more gas The coroner is busy, he's checking check-ing uf the dead, run down by truck or lizzie or auto painted red. The : coroner Is weary, he tolls by day and I night; his task is sad and dreary and there's no end t sight. The village cops are chasing the fiends o'er hill land dale, and after bitter racing the put a few In Jail. And then they're fined so lightly thfy think it all a joke, and leave the courtroom brightly, bright-ly, and make their autos smoke. Through highways residential, through j traffic's busy marts, with ardor pestl-I pestl-I lentlal they run their deadly carts. Ibey wing the fleeing baker, the;, maim the frightened clerk, and now the undcrtaJvor gets In his grewsome work. The doctor's nerves are busted, bust-ed, so many icttms yelpt the coroner's disgusted and wildly calls for help And still the crazy motors go rushing through the town, and slay the adult voters and mow the children down And when I stand protesting the speed ;find scorns my rhyme, and jauntily go 'questing for some one they can climb. oo |