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Mungindi Bob

Edward S. Sorenson

A capital fellow was Mungindi Bob, 
    And none ever called him a slacker;
A man who could do any kind of a job
That offered from Mooni toPelican Knob,
But wherever you met him—on his pat, in a mob—
    ‘Twas “Give us a pipe o’ terbacker.”

He was always an alffable sort of a chap,
    Though beyond any woman to catch;
If you called at the humpy marked his on the map
He’d find you a scrap and provide you with nap,
But every five minutes his pipe he would tap,
    And say to you, “Lend us a match.”

Don’t think he was mean or a miser, I pray,
    Such a notion I couldn’t endorse;
He reaped all the pleasure that came in his way;
At the show or the races he’d make it a day;
But ere he set out ‘twas a moral he’d say:
    “Old chap, kin you lend me a horse ?”

In the township he looked like a person of rank,
    Though he certainly wasn’t a snob;
He’d shout for the crank from the Seven-mile Tank
As soon as he would for the man at the bank,
But in the next minute he’d tickle his flank
    And whisper him, “Lend us a bob.”

Though rather too free and a little too fast,
    He was always a sociable type;
But a gulf came between us, a gulf that was vast;
Our mateship was blasted, our friendship was past,
And our lots ever after divergently cast,
‘Cause I ventured to raise an objection at last
    When he wanted to borrow my pipe.

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