A Hardy Perennial
Way back in the ultimate mist of the ages,
When most of the country was not on the map,
When politics seemed in its earliest stages,
And running elections was really a snap,--
`Way back in those times there would happen a season
When loud was the trumpeting, wild was the call,
And Echo would answer, when asked for the reason:
“They're putting the Kibosh on Tammany Hall!”
Now, every so often the stunt is repeated,
There's plenty of fireworks and oceans of noise,
The “good men” wind out and the “gang” is defeated.
There's nary a portion of “pie” for the “boys.”
Reformers are jubilant, blithely declaring
The city is free of this “tigerish thrall,”
And newspaper headlines are shrieking and blaring:
“They're putting the Kibosh on Tammany Hall!”
But somehow, when all of the tumult is finished,
And everything's lovely and quiet once more,
The Tiger lives on with a vim undiminished
And feeds at the crib just the same as before.
Five thousand years hence, in your reincarnation,
You'll probably land in the midst of it all,
And find the “good people” with wild jubilation
Still “putting the Kibosh on Tammany Hall!”
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