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I hate Loew's State,
I hate the Met,
I hate the Paramount News;
And I'd rather have fleas in my hair
Than breeze into my lair
To turn out the reviews.
(On nights when I'm thirsity
Sending me to the University!)
Is there anything duller
Than Holland in color,
Or the Normandie, lost in a fog?
Every night it's my portion
To view some abortion
Like the antics of Flipper the Frog.
(As for Graham McNamee
His every word sticks a tackiname.)
Mickey Mouse can't amuse me.
The G-Men confuse me,
I'd much rather cover the news;
Could I choose I'd prefer to write verse
Or consume cherty loess--
Hell! go off in a hearse
Than go on with the reviews!
(Never time to read a good story at all;
My time is spent in Keith's Memorial.)
In geography "seasonal lag"
Used to cause me to gag
But a bite by a dog
Is as nothing compared to that
Super-bromicidal tag known as
(Such lines as "pleasant vehicle"
Are to me as so much sour treacle.)
So, I'd rather be hit on the head
Or be smothered in bed,
I'm so fed I could yell
I don't want to sound choosy
But one more reviewsy
Would knock my mentality half-way to hell!
Yes, would definitely wreck me.
Too late--you can't check me,
I despise, I decline
Though Crimson totter, moo, cows, mew.
And in fine
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