A Debate

A Debate

One was stringy, lean, and small,
The other wide, and thick, and tall,
The first was Mr. Albernay,
The second Francis Johnny May,
Engaged up on the pulpit in a war.

Albernay spoke at first to us
The lord of the supercilious,
Paradigm of the dull bookclerk,
His speeches drove only May berserk,
The rest of us he would proceed to bore.

May after would stand and shout,
Gather his followers all about,
Decry the officials, accentuate,
And demand the heads must abdicate
And recite which good old ways we must restore.

Somewhere amid this fierce harangue
Albernay would make a stand,
And picking at his buttonhole,
Address us with a rigamole,
But his tautology tended then to make us snore.

And in the dank, grimy city halls,
With furtive glances round the walls,
The politicos would sit and wait
And listen to that wild debate,
And pace out indentations in the floor.

But when the day was done at last
The election come and gone and past,
It was neither May nor Albernay
Who won that fine election day.
The bore and the snore and the great pompous boar
Drove us to madness with all their uproar.
At the end of the day,
What more can we say?
Please, peace and quiet, send them away.
The Misters May and Albernay.
The government is in to stay,
And so, my friends, there isn't any more.