My Plumbing [1920 Slang] Poem by R.K. Cowles

I finish my moo juice and leave the strike me dead
Will tip a few later on
I grab the plumbing, then wait to turn off the radio
Want to finish lisening to a quartet called Electric Cures
Performing the song 'You're the Cream in My Coffee'
Which is difficult when down the hall
This rug hopper and this shyster argueing
Over some round heels who's fighting tonight
When the song ends I turn it off
Then pass by a house pepper
Who has been searching for this derrick
Who knocked off the coffe shop
Been on the lam since
He ratted out by the finder down the street
Who lives across from the bistro
He use to drill the daylights out of others
For this big shot he worked for
With this wet tag who became a stiff
When chiseled a few extra abe cabes every now and then
He should have clammed
He wouldn't of met the big sleep
He was clipped by an oil can
Which he thought was his brother
But now this finder is usually zozzled
I could remember him
With a century at least once a month
Has taken bulge over some queers made
Underneath the big shot's basement stairs
Soon after he ratted
Shamuses were planted inside ununiformed
One of the fly dicks i can recall
Use to cutterize for the coast guard
I then check my kick to find only two cents
I still get the first hair of the dog for free
All musicians who play does
Been practicing on the plumbing
Can't wait to play
'Left All Alone Again Blues' and 'Crazy Blues'
With the rest of the band
These jam sessions gets me hot
Hopefully they're not out of monkey rum tonight
I get into the stanley and hit the road
I stop for a moment to barber with my pals
As one had an anchor 'neath his arm
Ankling down the street
I mention I'm playing tonight at the speakeasy
And they should come out for some rye sap
We usually go out in his stutter tub
Out on the lake up north with both our sweethearts
I then arrive to the blind pig
And get me my first mule
This skid rogue sits next to me
Burning with a blue flame
I then tell him to jump in the lake
Thena pal on his licorice stick does a solo
Then another one I see decides to play the spark jiver
Instead of the storehouse tonight
'St. Louis Blues' must be on the list of songs
Another pal is plucking the strings on her doghouse
She use to be a weak sister for the groan box
Boogie Woogie is live and well tonight
As I made the song 'The Sugar Foot Stomp'
I made the voice of a fella who says
'Mash me a fin, homeboy'
I reply 'I almost have dust in my kick, next time I have it, you'll get it'
The hide beater I made was a goof
At his suitcase beating it out
Once I finish my monkey rum
Will cop a seat in the jam
Once the jam ends, mitt pounding begins
I pipe a group of baby vamps
Leading the audience in it
They are a group from the art world who calls themself Embald Snowbirds
Most nights my kicks cops fews and twos
Off in the far corner I pipe a clout and a can opener
One plays the git box, the other a woodpile
They began capers with this scratcher who finked them
To get him a clean sneak from underglass
Those two were to dance last year
But their lips got them off
They both are no longer allowed to jam in this joint
Yet they are allowed to listen
As I pipe they were both hitting the pipe
I see that a flapper here with her slush pump
She's always a cat's meow when jamming with her
In through the back entrance a sot enters
Lugging his foghorn along
Stepping over two sprawled frames
Who apparently are half seas over
A shiek and his sheba at the front table
Both always gets us in a panic
Who always have a lollapallooza with these jams
All of a sudden it ends
The band then begins a gut- bucket 'Down Hearted Blues'
Her vocals is so copasetic
She only snorts tiger milk
Swan she handles herself
I then head to the stage with my plumbing
And begin to blow into it
To tip my mitt those emotions
I've had tangled inside