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C J Dennis - The Heart of the Dove
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Say, Bo, this little Yewropean war
It grieves our gloryus nation to the core -
   The vurry core of its great, strang, red heart,
We`re tur-ble sore:
            That`s what.
   We got
         A reel sawft heart.    


Naw, son! we air not takin` any part.
We figgered that ahl out, right from the start.
   The great american nation stan`s aside:
She keeps apart -
            An` jaws,
   Becaws
         We gat our pride.


But don`t yew figger ahn no fancy paly
With Uncle Sam; he`s ready for th efray.
   An` wance that `Murkan eagle`s screech is heard
Watch out!  An`, say,
            Geewhiz!
   He is
         Some bird!


He is some eagle, yew kin take my word.
If wance that great, fierce heart of his was sturred -
   Aw, shucks! that little Yewropean stunt
Would look ab-surd!
            If he
   Cast free
         You`d see some hunt!


When wance that Bird o` Freedom hit the front
Why, Gee! them dinky ings would have to shunt!
   Old Yewrope would be right clean off the map!
I put it blunt:
            That lot
   Would not
         Put up a scrap.


Wance we cut loose - Aw, Hully Gee! the gap
In Yewrope`s rank `ud make tyhem howl for pap.
   We`d wipe the airth out of the Kasmic Plan
An` on the map
            This ball
    They`d call
         Amur-i-can.


The true Amur`kan, sir, he is a man
Who`d lick this un-i-verse, wance he began;
   Say, it`s a cinch; becaws we hold the dough
If we should plan
             To crunch
   The bunch,
         None could say so.


Them Kings and Kaisers all would have to go.
He`d do `em up right praper!  Get me, Bo?
   He`d eat hull crate-loads of their wan-harse ships!
He`d smash the show,
            He`d swat
   The lot
         Wance come to grips!


Aw, shucks!  This great, strang nation, sir, it whips
Creation!  Wance the word has pas`d our lips
   We`d just reach out, an` take the hull darn world!
We`d get the ships
            An` men:
   An` then
         Things would get whirled!


Yep!  Wance that starry banner was unfurled
We`d roast the Kaiser till his whiskers curled!
   Say, do you get me?  Wance we j`ined the fray
The hull darn world
            Would scoot,
   Per boot,
         Out of our way.


Wance we were roused - what matter, anyway?
We air nat takin` war in ours to-day
   Naw, Bo; we got no quar`l, we play the part
Of pained dismay,
            To show,
   You know,
         Our great, sawft, strang, red heart.
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