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| THE WORLD is a beast with a long fur tail, | |
| With an angry tooth, and a biting nail; | |
| And she’s headed the way that she ought not to go | |
| For the Lord he designed and decreed her so. | |
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| The point of the game is to drag the beast | 5 |
| While she’s headed sou-west, toward the nor-nor-east; | |
| God made the beast, and he drew the plan, | |
| And he left the bulk of the haul to man. | |
| |
| So primitive man dug a brace for his sandal. | |
| Took hold of the tail, as the logical handle; | 10 |
| Got a last good drink, and a bite of bread, | |
| And pulled till the blood ran into his head. | |
| |
| At first he gained till it looked like a cinch, | |
| But then the beast crawled back an inch; | |
| And ever since then it’s been Nip and Tuck, | 15 |
| Sometimes moving, but oftener stuck. | |
| |
| Most of the gains have been made by the crowd— | |
| Sweating nobly, and swearing aloud. | |
| Yet sometimes a single man could land | |
| A good rough jerk, or a hand-over-hand. | 20 |
| |
| They say Confucius made her come— | |
| Homer and Dante—they each pulled some! | |
| Bill Schopenhauer’s foot slipped, rank, | |
| While Shakespeare, he fetched her a horrible yank. | |
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| The beast has hollered and frequently spit, | 25 |
| Often scratched, and sometimes bit, | |
| And the men who were mauled, or laid out cold, | |
| Were the very ones with the strangle hold. | |
| |
| Why he did it, I don’t know; | |
| But the Lord he designed and decreed it so. | 30 |
| Of course he knew that the game was no cinch, | |
| So he gave man some trifles to help in a pinch. | |
| |
| One was an instinct, that might be read: | |
| “Lay hold of something, and pull till you’re dead!” | |
| Another, that can’t be translated as well, | 35 |
| Was, “Le’ go my tail—and go to Hell!” | |
| |
| But the strongest card in the whole blame pack | |
| Was the fine sensation that paid man back; | |
| For the finest feeling that’s been unfurled | |
| Is the feel of the fur on the tail of the world! | 40 |
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