Day after day after day,
I wake and lather and scrape;
Looking myself in the eye
I grin at my image and say:
Look at the hairy ape
Wishing himself goodbye!
Grand-dad, he had a beard,
Randy old son of a gun!
Even when it was white
He, if a wench appeared,
Would roar to get her to run
And catch and cuddle her tight.
Father, too, had a black
Stubble upon
his
chin;
Every day of
his
life
With a hollow blade he would hack
At the natural man within-
He did it to pleasure
his
wife.
She was a handsome jade,
Black, undauntable eyes,
Snug bottom and well-turned calf;
When Father had stropped
his
blade,
He would reach between her thighs,
Pluck out a hair and laugh.
Then in his sixtieth year,
Seeing the black jowl hoar,
He lathered and gave a groan,
Took himself by the ear,
Picked up the blade once more,
And cut
his
throat to the bone.
