A PATTER SONG

There was a cranky Governor —

His name it was n't Waterman.

For office he was hotter than

The love of any lover, nor

Was Boruck's threat of aiding him

Effective in dissuading him —

This pig-headed, big-headed, singularly self-conceited Governor Nonwaterman.

To citrus fairs, et cætera,

He went about philandering,

To pride of parish pandering.

He knew not any better — ah,

His early education had

Not taught the abnegation fad —

The wool-witted, bull-witted, fabulously feeble-minded king of gabble-gandering!

He conjured up, ad libitum,

With postures energetical,

One day ( this is prophetical )

His graces, to exhibit‘ em.

He straddled in each attitude,

Four parallels of latitude —

The slab-footed, crab-footed, galloping gregarian, of presence unæsthetical!

An ancient cow, perceiving that

His powers of agility

Transcended her ability

( A circumstance for grieving at )

Upon her horns engrafted him

And to the welkin wafted him —

The high-rolling, sky-rolling, hurtling hallelujah-lad of peerless volatility!