I
wish I were a pol-ice-man
Upon a city street;
The
jolly times that I would have
Surely could not be beat.
I
wouldn’t go where it was dark;
Nor in the lonesome ways;
I
wouldn’t go policing nights,
But through the pleasant days.
I’d
stroll along the busy streets
Where fruit stands were in view,
And
swing my bright and shiny club
Like all policemen do.
Then
I would sample all the fruits,
And all the knick-knacks, too;
And
if they said a word to me
I’d scowl and scare ‘em blue.
I’d
stroll around the shady parks
Each golden summer day,
To
listen to the city bands
When they began to play.
Or
I would take some novel book
Off to some lonesome spot,
Where
many people wouldn’t see,
And read an awful lot.
Then
I would saunter, proud as life,
Down some rich avenue,
Where
maids were wheeling children out,
All dressed in pink and blue,
And
I would tell them fairy tales,
The maids, of course, I mean,
And
I would be a hero bold
To each white-copped colleen.
I’d
chuck the maids beneath their chins,
And make their cheeks grow red,
Then
leave them in a jealous rage
And hold aloft my head,
And
saunter down the street again
Beneath their wistful eyes,
Then
slip inside some kitchen door
To sample cakes and pies.
I’d
praise the high and mighty cook
For all her pastry neat,
Till
she would place in front of me
The best she had to eat.
And
if the owner of the house
Should short of pastry be,
I’d
eat and eat and eat some more
And chortle in my glee.
Then
I would dodge in thro’
a door
Where lights were burning low,
And
for an hour or so enjoy
A moving picture show.
And
then the station I would seek,
And stand in bold relief,
And
there receive, for being brave,
The blessing of my chief.
I
wish I were a pol-ice-man
Upon a city square;
The
people who were passing by
Would look at me and stare.
I
wouldn’t go down alleys dark,
Nor in the lonesome ways;
I
wouldn’t go policing nights,
But through the pleasant days.
Dec.
6, 1916
No comments:
Post a Comment