by C.J.Dennis


Oh, Iím sick of the whole darned human race,

And Iím sick of this earthly ball;

Iím sick of the sight of my brotherís face,

And his works and talk and all;

Iím sick of the silly sounds I hear,

Iím sick of the sights I see;

Omar Khayyam he knew good cheer,

And itís much the same with me.


Give me a bit of a bough to sit

Beneath, and a book of rhyme,

And a cuddlesome girl that sings a bit

But donít sing all the time;

Thatís all I ask, and itís only just;

For itís all that I hold dear---

A bough and a book and a girl and a crust;

That and a jug of beer.


Then Iíll cuddle my girl and Iíll quaff my ale

As we sit on the leafy floor;

And when the book and the beer jug fail,

Iíll cuddle my girl some more.

For jugs give out and books get slow,

But you take my tip for square---

Though the bough and the book and the beer jug go,

The girl, sheís always there.


Iím sick of the sound of my fellowsí voice;

Iím sick of their schemes and shams;

Of trying to choose when there ainít no choice,

And of damning several damns;

So, give me a girl that ainít too slow.

You can keep your book of rhyme

And your bough and bread and beer. Wot O!

And Iíll cuddle her all the time.

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