The songs of today, though they're all very short
Yet are often exceedingly sweet
While the lyrics so deeply with passions are fraught
There are some I should blush to repeat.

"O heart of me see at thy feet how I lie!"
(He could lie standing up just as well!)
Tis the lily-white soul I shall love till I die!"
So he says... But you never can tell!

There are love songs of Africa, India, Japan,
And of ev'ry conceivable place,
They are all of them built to a family plan,
And the fashion is growing apace.

If the poems were sent to the Censor of Plays
Ere the songs were permitted to sell,
He would curl up his innocent brow in amaze,
And he's say... But you never can tell!

There are numerous songs with such titles as this:
`You're my Bumble, I am your Bee.'
Or, `The Cowslip's Caress', or `The Grasshopper's Kiss',
Or `The Puddle that Yearns for the Sea'.

They have all very tender pathetic refrains,
And the publisher's profits they swell,
But the people who sing them have they any brains?
Well perhaps... But you never can tell!