Brewster Rockit by Tim Rickard for July 13, 2024

I’ve got a little list — I’ve got a little list

Of society offenders who might well be underground

And who never would be missed — who never would be missed!

There’s the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs —

All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs —

All children who are up in dates, and floor you with ’em flat —

All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like that —

And all third persons who on spoiling tête-á-têtes insist —

They’d none of ‘em be missed — they’d none of ’em be missed!

He’s got ‘em on the list — he’s got ’em on the list;

And they’ll none of ‘em be missed — they’ll none of ’em be missed

There’s the banjo serenader, and the others of his race

And the piano-organist — I’ve got him on the list!

And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face

They never would be missed — they never would be missed!

Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone

All centuries but this, and every country but his own;

And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy

And who “doesn’t think she dances, but would rather like to try”;

And that singular anomaly, the lady novelist —

I don’t think she’d be missed — I’m sure she’d not be missed!

He’s got her on the list — he’s got her on the list;

And I don’t think she’ll be missed — I’m sure she’ll not be missed!

The Judicial humorist — I’ve got him on the list!

All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life —

They’d none of ‘em be missed — they’d none of ’em be missed

And apologetic statesmen of a compromising kind

Such as — What d’ye call him — Thing’em-bob, and likewise — Never-mind

And ‘St— ’st— ’st— and What’s-his-name, and also You-know-who —

The task of filling up the blanks I’d rather leave to you

But it really doesn’t matter whom you put upon the list

For they’d none of ‘em be missed — they’d none of ’em be miss