THE POPULAR SONG

I never was naturally vicious;

My spirit was lamb-like and mild;

I never was bad or malicious;

I loved with the trust of a child.

But hate now my bosom is burning,

And all through my being I long

To get one solid thump on the head of the chump

Who wrote the new popular song.

The office-boy hums it,

The book-keeper drums it,

It's whistled by all on the street;

The hand-organ grinds it,

The music-box winds it,

It's sung by the “cop” on the beat.

The newsboy, he spouts it,

The bootblack, he shouts it,

The washwoman sings it all wrong;

And I laugh, and I weep,

And I wake, and I sleep,

To the tune of that popular song.

Its measures are haunting my dreaming;

I rise at the breakfast-bell's call

To hear the new chambermaid screaming

The chorus aloud through the hall.

The landlady's daughter's piano

Is helping the concert along,

And my molars I break on the tenderloin steak

As I chew to that popular song.

The orchestra plays it,

The German band brays it,

‘ T is sung on the platform and stage;

All over the city

They're chanting the ditty;

At summer resorts it's the rage.

The drum corps, it beats it,

The echo repeats it,

The bass-drummer brings it out strong,

And we speak, and we talk,

And we dance, and we walk,

To the notes of that popular song.

It really is driving me crazy;

I feel that I'm wasting away;

My brain is becoming more hazy,

My appetite less every day.

But, ah! I'd not pray for existence,

Nor struggle my life to prolong,

If, up some dark alley, with him I might dally

Who wrote that new popular song.

The bone-player clicks it,

The banjoist picks it,

It‘ livens the clog-dancer's heels;

The bass-viol moans it,

The bagpiper drones it,

They play it for waltzes and reels.

I shall not mind quitting

The earthly, and flitting

Away‘ mid the heavenly throng,

If the mourners who come

To my grave do not hum

That horrible popular song.