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Edgar Guest - Queer Ebenezer
Work rating: Low

The strangest man I ever knew 
Is Ebenezer Pettigrew; 
Dropped in on him last night t` chat 
Of politics an` this an` that, 
An` when he`d showed me to a seat 
He brung some apples in t` eat, 
An` tuk one up, an` stroked its side 
An` fondled it t` show his pride. 
Says I t’ him: "It`s plain t` me 
Thet things ain`t what they orter be; 
Men ain`t as honest as they wuz, 
Vice profits more`n virtue does, 
The weak are downtrod by the strong, 
The whole world`s overrun by wrong." 
An` then I showed him facts t` prove 
Thet we air gettin` in a groove 
O` wickedness, an` steeped in sin, 
But all he did wuz work his chin 
A-chewin` on his apple core 
An` lookin` at his parlor floor, 
An` then, says he, right slow t` me: 
"Some things ain`t what they orter be, 
But still I ain`t inclined to pine, 
Apples this year air mighty fine." 

He tuk another pippin then 
An` started in t` chew again. 
"Now Eb," says I, "Ye`ve got t` say 
Thet we air in a dreadful way; 
Thet life is full o` pain an` woe, 
An` rough air roads thet we must go. 
The iron heels of lust and greed 
Air on our necks, an` if you read 
The papers nowadays, you`ll note 
Thet rumors dreadful air afloat; 
Our judges ain`t exactly just 
In matters that affect a trust." 
I put it to him good an` strong, 

Expectin` that he`d come erlong 
An` jine with me by nod or sign, 
But nary nod or move t` jine 
He made, but turnin` in his chair 
An` reachin` fer the table, where 
An old brown pitcher stood, says he: 
"Come on an` have a drink with me; 
I ain`t denyin` what you say, 
It mebbe things air thataway, 
But here`s yer glass, now ain`t that clear? 
The cider`s mighty fine this year."
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