Get Off The Earth

What are you doing on the earth?

     You have no business here;

No one but me has any right

     Upon this mundane sphere.

Away! Vamoose! To other worlds,

     Clear out somewhere and stay;

This earth was made for me alone,

     Get off, get off, I say.

I own the private walks of life,

     I own the highways, too;

And every inch of universe,

     Was made for me, not you.

I want the whole thing to myself,

     I want the right of way;

This earth was made for me alone,

     Get off, get off, I say.

“Why, who are you?” some hunk head cries,

     Whom I have pushed away;

Bold sir, I am the Average Man,

     Who stalks the earth today.

And wheresoe’er I chance to be,

     I want the right of way;

The earth was made for me alone,

     Get off, get off, I say.

Dec. 21, ‘95

Pub. in B. Courier,

Mar. 15, 1896