THE BATTLE ROYAL

Meyer, Ernest L.

The Battle Royal By ERNEST L. MEYER (Billion-dollar aid extended by the United States to Russia has split wide open the ranks of interventionists who fear and hate Communism. Again the cries of...

...Why, we make more gunidrops yearly than the natives of Peru, And we sold ten tons of dishpans in July of '92...
...Then the Rooshian-hating Yankee and the Socialistic Red, Having tired of argufying, tried the fistic route instead...
...But let the jobless grumble, then the cops call out the tanks, And he's free to get his liver sliced by Rooshian-hating Yanks...
...Go and clip your filthy coupons," the Socialist he cried...
...And a man can rise from nowhere in this country of the free— Henry Ford once dug out postholes in the Adriatic Sea...
...He fetched the Yank a hefty clout with "Memoirs of Kropotkin...
...And the Yankee howled: "Damn Rooshia...
...You believe in beating women, and a hundred kindred larks, And you'll never win a race because you're always on your Marx...
...and he doffed his coat and vest And whammed the Rooshian's offshore ear with "Rhymes of Eddie Guest...
...Sure, a man has got his freedom in this land of liberty-He's free to live on doorknob soup and warble do-re-mi...
...And when the fight was ended, there lay all stark and dead— A Rooshian-hating Yankee and a Socialistic Red...
...You're an atheistic monster and eat Bibles for your lunch, And there ain't a bike or bathtub in your whole dern Moscow bunch...
...He's free to wiggle both his ears, and free to scratch his toes, And the law gives him the right to balance eels upon his nose...
...and all the words of Engels, And frying pans and samovars and droshky ding-dong-dengles, And Rooshian bricks from Leningrad and Yankee rocks from Maine, And Yankee cyclones from the South and filthy Rooshian rain, And caviar and soda pop and vodka and red herrings, And beet-root borsht and Boston beans and New ' York brick cheese parings, And Navy Journals, Pravda, and the works of Tolstoi, too, And statistics on the bathtub plugs along Park Avenue—Oh, the hubbub was horrendous and the massacre was mean, And not since time of chaos was such a mixup seen...
...Now, the Yankee system's different, for it rests on solid things Like bungalows and bonnets and Woolworth ruby rings...
...A Rooshian-hating Yankee and a Socialistic Red Once battled at a forum while sane folks remained in bed...
...All in all, it looks as if we are in for at wordy and windy winter...
...And in a trice the air was filled with Morgan, Marx and Ford, And Bebel, Lenin and Tom Paine and lyrics to the Lord, And church-bells, communistic songs and Emma Goldman chants, And Rooshian smodks and nineteen pair of honest Yankee pants, And Stalin, Proudhon, Pegler, and D. A. R. reports And Margaret Sanger souvenirs of forty different sorts, And Cossack knives and snickersees, and nine Kiwanis forks, And bulletins on birth control, and babies' boots, and storks, And Martin Dies and Molotov and Browder and Bachunin, And sundry sinful songbooks made for atheistic croonin', And all the works of F.D.R...
...Again the cries of "free love" and "atheism" and "dirty Reds" are heard in the land, while Westbrook Peglef and others shriek for a purging of radicals in Washington and in the labor movement...
...And the Socialist he peeled his coat, and crying, "By my bodkin...
...Said the Rooshian-hating Yankee: "You believe that love is free, But it's always been an awful costly enterprise for me...
...Go and shoot your striking miners and devour 'em skinned and fried...
...Scarf ace Al, a simple choir-boy, studied hard and got ahead," Said the Rooshian-hating Yankee to the Socialistic Red...

Vol. 5 • December 1941 • No. 49


 
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