OTHER PEOPLE'S SONGS.
By William Jerome.
The other day while strolling out to have a pleasant walk.
We met two pretty maidens And to them commenced to talk;
They said that they were strangers and had just arrived in town,
To make it pleasant for the girls, we thought we'd show 'em round.
Of course, we done it just to please the girls,
Those lovely maidens with long, flowing curls,
And being they were strangers, to protect them from all dangers,
We took in all the sights with pretty girls.
We took them for a carriage ride, 'way out to Central Park,
Of course, we didn't mean no harm, 'twas just a jolly lark;
They said they thought we were real good to use them both so kind,
We told them that was nothing, such a thing we didn't mind.
For we'd both been there before, many a time;
We'd both been there before, many a time;
We didn't care what the racket cost, 'twas nobody's business and nobody's loss,
For we'd both been there before, many a time.
They said that they were thirsty and would like to have a drink;
That suited us just out of sight, as we had lots of chink,
So to a cafe we went, not very far from there,
And filled these little maidens up with oysters, wine and beer.
And the band played "Annie Laurie," we never saw such tanks;
Oh, they would make great soldiers for the Salvation Army ranks.
When supper it was over, we started to go out.
The four of us were loaded, we could hardly move about;
Somebody tried to guy us, and, of course, we made a kick,
Then a fight was started, in a minute we were sick.
Some one hammered us with chairs, then they threw as down stairs,
In the gutter we both fell, thought we surely were in---
We were a dizzy-looking mob, holy Moses what a job;
We never shall forget the day that we met these two maidens.
A copper came and nailed us, to the station-house we went;
Our watches and our chains were gone, we didn't have a cent;
The damsels they had flew away und taken all the lot;
The judge said we were suckers And this sentence then we got:
Down on Blackwell's Island we went for thirty days,
Working on a pile of rocks, for being foolish jays;
The trouble that we went through, sure heaven only knows,
Dressed in our best Sunday cloths.