None Of The Jungle People Like Being

As I Pass Through My Incarnations In Every Age And Race, I Make My Proper Prostrations To The Gods Of The Market-place. Peering Through Reverent Fingers I Watch Them Flourish And Fall, And The Gods Of The Copybook Headings, I Notice, Outlast Them All.

There Are Nine-and-sixty Ways Of Constructing Tribal Lays, And Every Single One Of Them Is Right.

Keep Your Head When All About You Are Losing Theirs And Blaming It On You.

If I Were Hanged On The Highest Hill, Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine! I Know Whose Love Would Follow Me Still Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine!

We're Poor Little Lambs Who've Lost Our Way, Baa! Baa! Baa! We're Little Black Sheep Who've Gone Astray, Baa-aa-aa! Gentlemen-rankers Out On The Spree, Damned From Here To Eternity, God Ha' Mercy On Such As We, Baa! Yah! Bah!