⁠"Feed it to 'em,
⁠they lap it up,
⁠bull . . . bull . . . bull,"
Said a movie news reel camera man.
Said a Washington newspaper correspondent,
Said a baggage handler lugging a trunk,
Said a two-a-day vaudeville juggler,
Said a hanky-pank selling jumping-jacks.
"Hokum—they lap it up," said the bunch.

And a tall scar-face ball player.
Played out as a ball player.
Made a speech of his own for the hero boy,
Sent an earful of his own to the dead buck private:
⁠"It's all safe now, buddy.
⁠Safe when you say yes.
⁠Safe for the yes-men."

He was a tall scar-face battler
With his face in a newspaper
Reading want ads, reading jokes,
Reading love, murder, politics.
Jumping from jokes back to the want ads,
Reading the want ads first and last.
The letters of the word JOB, "J-O-B,"
Burnt like a shot of bootleg booze
In the bones of his head—
In the wish of his scar-face eyes.