TA RA RUM.
Copyright, 1886, by F. Harding.
There's a dirty gang of loafers on the corner of the block,
And whenever I go past they're sure to yell, Ta-ra-rum;
I don't know what it means, but still it gives me quite a shock,
And it hurts my feelings, too.
If I'm passing with a lady, they will holler, Chain him up,
And then somebody will start them off again, ta-ra-rum;
They will shout out to the lady, Buy a muzzle for your pup,
And it's me they mean, that's true.
May the devil fly away with them and their ta-ra-rum;
I'll take a dose of poison, or myself I'll go and hang,
Through the chorus of that gang.
When they put me up for alderman a speech I tried to make,
But my mouth was scarcely open when they yelled, Ta-ra-rum;
Next morning on my eye I wore a half a pound of steak,
Where they hit me with a brick.
I went down to the court, to get a warrant I did try,
But the judge says, Serve you right, you look a bum, ta-ra-rum;
I went straight home and put my Sunday dinner on my eye,
So of politics I am sick.
It gives me hydrophobia when I hear ta-ra-rum;
The country may be ruined for the want of aldermen,
But they won't fool me again.
Now I backed a horse at Brighton, and my money went to get,
When the betting man looked at me, and says he, Ta-ra-rum;
Says he, Why, don't you know, sir, that your horse us running yet,
And he'll be in sometime next year?
Of course, when he said that, the people 'round began to smile,
Then says I, You have my money, you may say, Ta-ra-rum;
But the horse that takes a year to run three-quarters of a mile,
Is a d---m bad horse I fear.
You have my twenty dollars in your purse, ta-ra-rum;
You may go and buy a pistol, and I'll let you kill a fool,
If I ever buy another pool.