Who’s
spry as a gibbon, a chimp or baboon?
No one
but me, or Siegfried Sassoon.
Who’s
fiercer than any bewhiskered dragoon?
No one
but me, or Siegfried Sassoon.
Someone
to tell you the way to Rangoon?
No one
but me, or Siegfried Sassoon.
Who’s
known as the Belle of East Saskatoon?
No one
but me, or Siegfried Sassoon.
Who’ll
carve out Mt. Rushmore with only a spoon?
Who’s
fuller of wind than a blowing typhoon?
Who’s
friendly with Popeye and Alice the
Goon?
Who
regrets deeply he started this tune?
Who’d
stop if you give him a battered doubloon
Or told
him the way to the local saloon?
No one
but me, or Siegfried Sassoon.
Siegfried
Sassoon! Siegfried Sasson!
He
can’t come too late! He can’t leave too soon!
He
haunts me at midnight! He haunts me at noon!
He
snipes at the Sun; he sneers at the Moon
He
plays the harmonium (never in tune);
His
mustache has turned a revolting maroon!
That
snuffling, shuffling murthering gossoon!
Will
I never be freed from Siegfied Sassoon?
In
the twisty corridors of Hell
No
light there is, just darkness visible,
Or
so I’ve read.
Thus,
if through Hell your journey tends
Don’t
glance about in search of friends
Among
the dead.
Do
your business, take your pay
And
go upon your fortuned way
With
quiet tread.
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