SONG
FOR THE SQUEEZE BOX
by Theodore Roethke
B. Saginaw Mich.
1908
It wasn't Ernest; it wasn't
Scot,
The boys I knew when I went
to pot
They didn't boast; they didn't
snivel,
But stepped right up and swung
at the Devil:
And after exchanging a punch
or two
They all sat down like me and
you
- And began to drink up the
money.
It wasn't the Colony; it wasn't the Stork:
It wasn't the joints in New
York, New York;
But me and a girl friend learned
a lot
In Ecorse, Toledo, and Wyandotte
- About getting rid of our
money.
It was jump-in-the-hedge;
it was wait-in-the-hall
It was "Would you believe
it - fawther's tall"!
(It tuned out she hadn't a
father at all)
- But how she could burn up
the money!
A place I surely did like to go
Was the underbelly of Cicero;
And East St. Louis and Monongahela
Had the red-hot spots where
you feel a
- Lot like losing some money.
Oh, the Synco Septet played for us then,
And even the boys turned out
to be men
As we sat there drinking that
bathtub gin
- And loosened up with our
money.
It was Samoots Matuna and Bugs Moran
It was Fade me another and
Stick out your can;
It was Place and Show and Also
Ran
- For you never won with that
money.
Oh, it wasn't a crime, it wasn't a sin,
And nobody slipped me a Mickey
Finn
For whenever I could,
I dealt them all in
- On that Chunk of Grandpa's
money.
It was Dead man's corner and Kelly's stable;
It was Stand on your feet as
long as you're able
But many a man rolled under
the table
- When he tried to drink up
the money
For some it may seem a sad thing to relate,
The dough I spent on Chippewa
Kate,
For she finally left town on
the Bay City freight
- When she thought I'd run
out of money.
The doctors, the lawyers, the cops are all paid.
So I've got to get me a rich
ugly old maid
Who isn't unwilling, who isn't
afraid
- To help me eat up her money.
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