Works in the Bulletin 1915

If we were animated by the spirit of conquest no Power could stop us from taking the entire American continent, from Greenland to Cape Horn; nor even prevent us from turning into American colonies the entire world outside of Europe. - Quarterly International Trade Magazine, of Chicago.

Say, Bo, this little Yewropean war
It grieves our gloryus nation to the core -
   The vurry core of its great, strang, red heart,
We're tur-ble sore:
            That's what.
   We got
         A reel sawft heart.    

Naw, son! we air not takin' any part. We figgered that ahl out, right from the start. The great american nation stan's aside: She keeps apart - An' jaws, Becaws We gat our pride.
But don't yew figger ahn no fancy paly With Uncle Sam; he's ready for th efray. An' wance that 'Murkan eagle's screech is heard Watch out! An', say, Geewhiz! He is Some bird!
He is some eagle, yew kin take my word. If wance that great, fierce heart of his was sturred - Aw, shucks! that little Yewropean stunt Would look ab-surd! If he Cast free You'd see some hunt!
When wance that Bird o' Freedom hit the front Why, Gee! them dinky ings would have to shunt! Old Yewrope would be right clean off the map! I put it blunt: That lot Would not Put up a scrap.
Wance we cut loose - Aw, Hully Gee! the gap In Yewrope's rank 'ud make tyhem howl for pap. We'd wipe the airth out of the Kasmic Plan An' on the map This ball They'd call Amur-i-can.
The true Amur'kan, sir, he is a man Who'd lick this un-i-verse, wance he began; Say, it's a cinch; becaws we hold the dough If we should plan To crunch The bunch, None could say so.
Them Kings and Kaisers all would have to go. He'd do 'em up right praper! Get me, Bo? He'd eat hull crate-loads of their wan-harse ships! He'd smash the show, He'd swat The lot Wance come to grips!
Aw, shucks! This great, strang nation, sir, it whips Creation! Wance the word has pas'd our lips We'd just reach out, an' take the hull darn world! We'd get the ships An' men: An' then Things would get whirled!
Yep! Wance that starry banner was unfurled We'd roast the Kaiser till his whiskers curled! Say, do you get me? Wance we j'ined the fray The hull darn world Would scoot, Per boot, Out of our way.
Wance we were roused - what matter, anyway? We air nat takin' war in ours to-day Naw, Bo; we got no quar'l, we play the part Of pained dismay, To show, You know, Our great, sawft, strang, red heart.

The Bulletin, 18 March 1915, p24

Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2004