Try To Reach
21-08-2006, 04:16 PM
SIZE AND TEARS
http://www.graaam.com/up/Pic8/685e1d6dfd.gif
When on the sandy shore I sit
Beside the salt sea-wave
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear
I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)
Ah me I see him on the cliff
Farewell, farewell to hope
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope
To whatsoever place I flee
My odious rival follows me
For every night, and everywhere
I meet him out at dinner
And when I've found some charming fair
And vowed to die or win her
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout
Is sure to come and cut me out
The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim
It's quite a treat to look at him
They vanish in tobacco smoke
Those visionary maids
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout
(I told you he would find me out!)
"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
No more it is, my boy
But if it's YOURS, as I infer
Why, Brown, I give you joy
A man, whose business prospers so
Is just the sort of man to know
"It's hardly safe, though, talking here
I'd best get out of reach
For such a weight as yours, I fear
Must shortly sink the beach
Insult me thus because I'm stout
I vow I'll go and call him out
http://www.graaam.com/up/Pic8/685e1d6dfd.gif
When on the sandy shore I sit
Beside the salt sea-wave
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear
I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)
Ah me I see him on the cliff
Farewell, farewell to hope
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope
To whatsoever place I flee
My odious rival follows me
For every night, and everywhere
I meet him out at dinner
And when I've found some charming fair
And vowed to die or win her
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout
Is sure to come and cut me out
The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim
It's quite a treat to look at him
They vanish in tobacco smoke
Those visionary maids
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout
(I told you he would find me out!)
"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
No more it is, my boy
But if it's YOURS, as I infer
Why, Brown, I give you joy
A man, whose business prospers so
Is just the sort of man to know
"It's hardly safe, though, talking here
I'd best get out of reach
For such a weight as yours, I fear
Must shortly sink the beach
Insult me thus because I'm stout
I vow I'll go and call him out