So pity little Junior's fate, All,
For he's woundup behind the eight-ball.
We're sorry most for Colonel Ruppert
How could a tycoon be so stuppert?
He'll find there isn't any honey
In putting up a lot of money
And then to have his expedition
Because of faulty supposition
Explore and map and fix his name
To (Byrd! Thy everlasting shame!)
Not brand new lands of ice and snow
But underparts of Mexico.
Let's give the Byrd to Mr. Goudey
For having the crust to be so rowdy
And spoiling other people's fun
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