Political Pastry

Air: The Minstrel Boy



The battered "Buck" to the dogs has gone,

In the dirtiest holes you'll find him.

A shame-proof shield he has buck-led on,

And his shirt hangs out behind him!

Ten good centsin his shirt he did roll

You see there the knot with a pin in ;

Twas the kicking of the South which caused the hole

Which exposes his freely-soiled linen!


When the Titans fell, the angry gods

Neath "Rocky Mountains" jammed them;

And earthquakes rose, from their giant throes

To escape --though Heaven had damned them!

But Buck's well known to have no "backbone,"

And to kick was never hasty:

Let s bury him in dough (that he once loved so!)

And he'll make a venison pasty!


The pie was baked, the guests did start,

For a rush of foul air rises;

We found a stone which had been his heart,

And a bundle of "Compromises!"

And this was all of Buck we could find.

With "gas" he had been loaded

And proved but a bag of filthy wind

Which Fremont's touch exploded.