If
you want to go a-fishin’ where the fish are lyin’ thick,
Way
out yonder in the open, or along the shady crick,
You
can do no execution no matter what your gait
If
you fail to have the proper kind of
Bait,
Bait,
Bait!
If
perchance you are an heiress living on the avanoo,
An'
your daddy is a banker, multimillionaire an’ you
Want
to ketch a duke an’ flourish on a tumble-down estate
You
can’t do it with(out)
the proper kind of
Bait,
Bait,
Bait.
If
perchance you are a fakir at the noisy county fair,
Or
indeed right in the city ‘neath the torch’s lurid glare,
An’
you want to ketch the suckers that forever lie in wait
You
kin do it mighty easy with your
Bait,
Bait,
Bait
Oh,
but if you are a poet with a little gem to sell,
Something
choice that you have written when beneath the muse’s spell,
An’
you take it to the office of the man who sits in state,
You
can’t fool him for a minute with your
Bait,
Bait,
Bait.
May
16, 1913
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