I scratched and clawed, my nails were worn.
My note-book ripped, my coat was torn.
But with all my energetic action,
I couldn't beat the dilettante faction.
My eyes are keen, my hearing fair,
But they did no good on an outside stair.
Josh Logan remains but a name to me,
On a theatre bill or bright marquee.
Sargent Kennedy I implore,
I'm tired of sitting on the floor.
Don't offer Agincourt or Flanders,
Scrap Soldiers Field; just give me Sanders.