Oh Scissors!

There was once a young man quite erratic
    Who lived all alone in an attic,
He wrote magazine verse
    That made editors curse,
But his friends thought it fine and dramatic.

A cat duet.
    A silhouette.
A high brick wall,
    An awful squall.
A moonlit night,
    A mortal fight.
A man in bed,
    Sticks out his head.
Gee Whiz!
    The man has riz.
His arm draws back
    A big bootjack--
A loud swish,
    Squish!
"What's that?"
    A dead cat.

Beware the Sissy Boy my child,
    Not because he's very wild;
The Sissy Boy is never that,
    Although he'll run if you say "Scat!"
The Sissy Boy's infinitesimal,
    He is not worth a duodecimal.

If you should take a custard pie
    And hit a Sissy in the eye,
He would not go before a jury,
    He'd only blush and say "Oh Fury!"
For he is perfumed, sweet and mild,
    That's just his kind, my dearest child.

One should never strike a Sissy,
    He is too lady-like and prissy.
You do not need to use your fist
    But merely slap him on the wrist,
And if this will not make him budge,
    Then glare at him and say "Oh Fudge!"

The Sissy sports a pink cravat
    And often wears a high silk hat;
His voice is like a turtle dove...

    The old man had his box and wheel
    For grinding knives and shears.
    No doubt his bell in village streets
    Was joy to children's ears.
    And I bethought me of my youth
    When such men came around,
    And times I asked them in, quite sure
    The scissors should be ground.
    The old man turned and spoke to me,
    His face at last in view.
    And then I thought those curious eyes
    Were eyes that once I knew.

    "The moon is but an emery-wheel
    To whet the sword of God,"
    He said.    "And here beside my fire
    I stretch upon the sod
    Each night, and dream, and watch the stars
    And watch the ghost-clouds go.
    And see that sword of God in Heaven
    A-waving to and fro.
    I see that sword each ce...

A college professor one day
    Was fishing in Chesapeake Bay;
Said a crab to his mate,
    "Let's kick off the bait,
This business is too old to pay."

It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown;
Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;
Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;
But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.

As Alice was a-sitting at her window-sill one day,
A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way;
She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true,
That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentleman like you!"

And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen,
She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten,
A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road
(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from her abode).

But Alice was a pious girl, who knew it wasn't wise
To look at strange young sorters with...