A Pathetic Bit of a Ballad
“You may say for me,” said the banker, as he sat in his donjon keep,
“That I thank the public for all they’ve done and———” here he began to weep;
And the sob reporter wrote a yarn that was destined to make you cry,
And those who read said, “It’s too bad. I’m sorry for him, poor guy!”’
“That I thank the public for all they’ve done and———” here he began to weep;
And the sob reporter wrote a yarn that was destined to make you cry,
And those who read said, “It’s too bad. I’m sorry for him, poor guy!”’
The sob reporter went to the man as he came from the prison cell,
And the man, released, said “On your way! I haven’t a word to tell.”
“But the people,” the sob reporter said, “the people want to know.”
And the man leaned back in his limousine and uttered a loud “Ho! Ho!”
And the man, released, said “On your way! I haven’t a word to tell.”
“But the people,” the sob reporter said, “the people want to know.”
And the man leaned back in his limousine and uttered a loud “Ho! Ho!”