KID, I don't getcha. You say I should box Just light an' pretty, so's to save my face? An' that you think a busted, battered map Is simply terrible, an' a disgrace? Say—you can't fight in long-range style wit' bricks— To score the knockouts, you must slug an' mix! You say the champion hasn't got a mark? He's just the swellest thing you ever saw? Well, that's because that baby bought his fights— Just paid poor simps to take it on the jaw! That ain't my style, kid—I'm dead on the level— I go right in, an' battle like the devil! Now, listen, babe—it may be soon or late, But I will get the champion in the ring. An' when I do—now, take this tip from me— That handsome goof will hear the birdies sing! An' when it's done—now, listen what I say— He'll be twice homelier than I am to-day! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS [MAY 9, 1775] by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SONNET: 94 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SOLITARY REAPER by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE SECOND COMING by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SORCERY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PSALM 113 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IN TRAVEL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |