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An Unkind Burglar

From The Topeka State Journal, January 2, 1914. By Roy K. Moulton.

A burglar came to my house,
I did not say a word,
I did not hoot,
I did not shoot
To let him know I heard.
I let him search my mansion,
I cuddled up in bed,
Pretended sleep,
I did not peep,
But let him think me dead.
I knew what he was after:
The key to my garage.
He found it, too.
He would, I knew,
And then I saw him dodge
Out of the door right quickly,
I followed him that far.
He looked around,
Surveyed the ground,
And then he stole my car.
I smiled and laughed and cackled
Until I thought I’d croak,
To see a bold
Bad burglar sold—
’Twas a delicious joke.
I went back to my slumbers
As happy as could be.
I’d lost my car
Ho-ho, har-har,
I’d saved some dough, maybe.
But soon I was awakened
Familiar with the sound,
The same old clang,
The same old bang,
The same old grind and pound.
He’d driven it ten minutes.
That guy gives me a pain.
It made such a fuss
The ornery cuss
Had brought it back again.

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