Eddie climbing up the rungs
Twisted one of his two lungs;
As he spat, he said, “Why, Pitts
“Shouldn’t be my name, but Spitts.”
Bobbie beating on the drum
Saw quite near a flask of rum:
Emptied it, reward did merit,
Beat it harder with more spirit.
Willie mid his streaming sweat,
Hit the piano harder yet,
Hit so hard with hefty pats,
All the sharps turned into flats.
Franky slid his trombone slide
Up and down, and far and wide;
Out, it dislocated Bobbie’s chin,
But knocked it back as it came in.
14. 3. 29