Hotsy Totsy [1920's Slang]

I place the dead soldier upon this bar
Of this blind pig i've been carousing in
Then head to iron my shoe lace
From a couple coffin varnishes I've imbibed
I pass two fellas
Just before I get to the john
As they punch the bag with some static
One was a fly boy
Attired in his Lindbergh jacket
This fella knows his onions
While the other fella was a bimbo with a pork pie hat
This john, a dew dropper
Seems to be balled-up
Whenever he discusses anything
With those who has their boots on
The more John Barleycorn he has
More of a goof he becomes
He use to possess a gimcrack tin can
That didn't have it
That wouldn't produce any nookle in it
Maybe next time buy a bucket
Both of these fellas were on the verge of the edge
Myself on the other hand
Wasn't loaded to the muzzle just yet
With the dough in my pocket
I only have enough for one more coffin varnish
As I was entering the john
A fella abandons it, I believe his name is Shawn
That reminds me this one occation
When I came back from a trip to Virginia
He resembles this blocker
Who wore raccoon pelts
That I purchased some jackass brandy
Then on the way back in my breezer
I wore a sack suit
It appeared I was tailed
By a couple of Joe Brooks
Made me assume I was sold out
They might be a couple of bulls tailing me
Or a couple of torpedos
I had snuck an extra bottle to my batch
This evening, all that was on my mind
Was this choice bit of calico
With her gnat's eyebrows chassis
She had her hair cut dutch
With a babuska worn over it
And some beads around her neck
I could tell she was waterproof
The onlt attention she gave was this bird
With white knickers and oxfords
This egg had a polo coat and a fedora
I assume not gay at this junction of the evening
I'll end now, and not on a toot
Siliar to this one time
I embibed too much yack yack bourbon
I had beat my gums ceasless
Then I was bum-rushed out of the shockhouse
I wound up in the rumble seat of my jalopy
Soaked in upchuck the next morn
It was time to pay the tab
And say a few goodbyes to my pals
Before heading back to my ticky-tacky pad
If only there were panther piss in stock
This evening would be more hotsy totsy

This appears in my poetry book 'Slang Poetry Volume I'