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THE CRIME

About a post his manly shape.

One post was there quite plain in view,

But in his vision there were two,

And with the most especial care,

He leaned upon the post of air.

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The cop looked down in deep disgust

As there he wallowed in the dust.

Said he, "This bird is soaking wet,

A pickled Harvard lad, I'll bet."

At that the stewed gent sobered up

Said he, "You little, knock-kneed pup,

No son of Harvard could wine

And Scotch and gin as I hold mine;

I don't drink mine from flasks and cups

Like all these Johnny Harvard pups:

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