This is my dream, It is my own dream, I dreamt it. I dreamt that my hair was kempt. Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.

I am a conscientious man, when I throw rocks at seabirds I leave no tern unstoned.

Some one invented the telephone, And interrupted a nation's slumbers, Ringing wrong but similar numbers.

Women would rather be right than reasonable.

Ten years ago she split the air To seize what she could spy Tonight she bumps against a chair, Betrayed by milky eye. She seems to pant, Time up, time up! My little dog must die, And lie in dust with Hector's pup; I So, presently, must I.

Stuyvesant chats with Kelly and Katz, The professor warms to the broker, And life is good in the brotherhood Of an air-conditioned smoker.

Then here's to the heartening wassail, Wherever good fellows are found; Be its master instead of its vassal, and order the glasses around.