Songs Controversial By Silent Long [i.e. T. T. Lynch] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | IV.
INK AND DRINK. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | Songs Controversial |  |
IV. INK AND DRINK.
Once simple souls were fed on milk,
The Church, she was a mother,
Who opened first one fount of life,
And opened then another:
But now we all must live on ink,
The milky streams are dry;
Her bosom it was warm and soft,
Our pens are hard and sly.
The Church, she was a mother,
Who opened first one fount of life,
And opened then another:
But now we all must live on ink,
The milky streams are dry;
Her bosom it was warm and soft,
Our pens are hard and sly.
All honour to the Press, but most
Unto the Press Religious;
Its blacking is so black that we
Can only cry—“Prodigious!”
By slang and slander, half and half,
A polish fine is given,
To black the seven-league boots in which
Editors stride to—Heaven!
Unto the Press Religious;
Its blacking is so black that we
Can only cry—“Prodigious!”
By slang and slander, half and half,
A polish fine is given,
To black the seven-league boots in which
Editors stride to—Heaven!
Now simple souls are fed on ink,
So grace is mostly gall;
Now, like the drunkard for his glass,
Saints for their “bitters” call:
Without their Hatred, as strong drink,
These strong men can't exist,
Love is but pap for little babe
And sentimentalist.
So grace is mostly gall;
Now, like the drunkard for his glass,
Saints for their “bitters” call:
Without their Hatred, as strong drink,
These strong men can't exist,
Love is but pap for little babe
And sentimentalist.
| Songs Controversial | |