 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
VAMOS, JOHN!
John Chinaman, my jo, John,
You patient, pig-tailed cuss,
Why did you come across the sea
To interfere with us?
Why did you leave the flowery land
Where rice and tea plants grow,
To vex the pious hoodlums' hearts,
John Chinaman, my jo?
You patient, pig-tailed cuss,
Why did you come across the sea
To interfere with us?
Why did you leave the flowery land
Where rice and tea plants grow,
To vex the pious hoodlums' hearts,
John Chinaman, my jo?
John Chinaman, my jo, John,
It fairly curls my hair
When I am told that you by Joss,
And not by Jingo swear.
And thus you are no Christian, John—
The hoodlums tell us so—
And much you shock their piety,
John Chinaman, my jo.
It fairly curls my hair
When I am told that you by Joss,
And not by Jingo swear.
And thus you are no Christian, John—
The hoodlums tell us so—
And much you shock their piety,
John Chinaman, my jo.
John Chinaman, my jo, John,
You still to Buddha cling,
While the hoodlums go to church and pray,
Which is a better thing.
The sand-lot civilization, John,
'Tis not your lot to know,
Hence you're a poor barbarian,
John Chinaman, my jo.
You still to Buddha cling,
While the hoodlums go to church and pray,
Which is a better thing.
The sand-lot civilization, John,
'Tis not your lot to know,
Hence you're a poor barbarian,
John Chinaman, my jo.
641
John Chinaman, my jo, John,
On our Pacific slope
They speak of you as most unclean—
The less they know of soap.
And they whose faces fertile crops
Of rare grog-blossoms grow,
Are shocked at such a leprous wretch,
John Chinaman, my jo.
On our Pacific slope
They speak of you as most unclean—
The less they know of soap.
And they whose faces fertile crops
Of rare grog-blossoms grow,
Are shocked at such a leprous wretch,
John Chinaman, my jo.
John Chinaman, my jo, John,
When we a treaty made,
You should have known 'twas only done
For profit on your trade.
'Twas heads I win, and tails you lose,
With right to come and go,
But not to give such rights to you,
John Chinaman, my jo.
When we a treaty made,
You should have known 'twas only done
For profit on your trade.
'Twas heads I win, and tails you lose,
With right to come and go,
But not to give such rights to you,
John Chinaman, my jo.
John Chinaman, my jo, John,
'Tis plain enough to me,
If dirtier you than hoodlums are,
Unclean you sure must be.
Your morals must be low, indeed,
If hoodlums think them so,
And therefore you git up and git,
John Chinaman, my jo.
'Tis plain enough to me,
If dirtier you than hoodlums are,
Unclean you sure must be.
Your morals must be low, indeed,
If hoodlums think them so,
And therefore you git up and git,
John Chinaman, my jo.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |