On the tide you ride head high, Like a whale `mid little fishes; I should envy you as I Help my wife to wash the dishes. Yet frock-coat and stove-pipe hat Cannot hide your folds of fat. You are reckoned a success, And the public praise you win; There`s your picture in the Press, Pouchy eyes and triple chin. Wealth,—of it you fairly stink; Health,—what does your Doctor think? Dignity is phoney stuff. Who is dignified deep down? Strip the pants off, call the bluff, Common clay are king and clown. Let a bulging belly be Your best bid for dignity. Miserable millionaire! For indulgence you must pay. Yet there`s salvation in prayer,— Down on your fat knees and pray. Know that with your dying breath There is dignity in death.SourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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