Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/37

 

His pink fingers are SO pretty, And he has a bright and witty
 * Lofty brow!

Seems to think that we are slighting All the wrongs we're really righting, And that he does all the fighting,
 * Telling how.

In a condescending manner, He adopts the worker's banner
 * As his own.

He descends in to the gutter, Where we sweat for bread and butter Saying things we COULD NOT utter
 * All alone.

While we work he does the grunting, Always there for glory hunting,
 * Large or small.

Has there been a row—he led it, Some wise word?—old high-brow said it, And he always hogs the credit
 * For it all.

When WE speak it is with terror, Lest an inadvertent error
 * He detect.

Count the foibles he abolished, All the gods he has demolished— And his language is SO polished
 * And correct!

