Did you ever make some small success And brag your little brag, As if your breathing would impress The world and fix your tag
Upon it, so that all might see The label loudly reading, “ME!” And when you thought you'd gained the height And, sunning in your own delight,
You preened your plumes and crowed “All right!” Did something wipe you out of sight? Unless you did this many a time You need n't stop to read this rime.
When I was mamma's little joy And not the least bit tough, I'd sometimes whop some other boy ( If he were small enough ),
And for a week I'd wear a chip, And at the uplift of a lip I'd lord it like a pigmy pope, Until, when I had run my rope,
Some bullet-headed little Swope Would clean me out as slick as soap. No doubt you were as bad, or worse, Or else you had not read this verse.
All women were like pica print When I was young and wise; I'd read their very souls by dint Of looking in their eyes.
And in those limpid souls I'd see A very fierce regard for me. And then — my, my, it makes me faint!— Peroxide and a pinkish paint
Gave me the hard, hard heart complaint, I saw the sham, I felt the taint, Yet if she'd pat me once or twice, I'd follow like a little fyce.
I never played a little game And won a five or ten, But, presto! I was not the same As common makes of men.
Not Solomon and all his kind Held half the wisdom of my mind. And so I'd swell to twice my size, And throw my hat across my eyes,
And chew a quill, and wear red ties, And tip you off the stock to rise — Until, at last, I'd have to steal The baby's bank to buy a meal.
I speak as if these things remained All in the perfect tense, And yet I do n't suppose I've gained A single ounce of sense.
I scoff these tales of yesterday In quite a supercilious way, But by to-morrow I may bump Into some newer game and jump!
You'll think I am the only trump In all the deck until — kerslump! Unless you'll do the same some time, Of course you have n't read this rime.
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