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.
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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ANYONE CAN BE A TRACK MAN SAYS E. L. FARRELL