IF I WERE CITY EDITOR.

If I were City Editor

And you should come to my cold desk and choke,

And say, “Old man I'm actually dead broke.”

I say, if I were City Editor,

And you should come in deepest grief and woe

And say, “Oh Lordy let me have the dough,”

I might arise with slow and solemn wink

And lecture you upon the curse of drink.

If I were City Editor

And you should come to my hotel and reel,

Clasping my beer to quench the thirst you feel,

I say if I were City Editor

And you should come in trembling and in fear

And even hint about licking up that beer,

I'd hit you just one swat, and then,

I guess I'd have to order one more bier.