A blithesome neat potato bug
          Lay dying on a chip
Which rested on a Persian rug
          All stained with greasy kip-
Pered herring. See the dying eyes
          Are riveted; the type
We often see in old pig sties.
          Some man doth hit the pipe.

Six demons in a rocky dell
          With voices clear and high
Sing halleluia, go to Hell!
          Jerusalem, you guy
We'll wreathe your brow with garlands sweet
          Then grind your flesh for Devil's meat.

The man that hits the pipe is named
          James Ebenezer Grimes,
His character is rank, ill famed,
          He's rich with many crimes.
He dearly loves to scratch his head.
          There's something that doth gripe
His very soul. All hope is dead.
          Poor man! He hits the pipe.

Six angels on a golden cloud
          Sing, "Nixie, Oh the muss.
Poor foolish sinner, damned, all cowed
          He'll never eat with us."
The fumes of Hell are rising up,
          Salted in flame, the Devil's pup.

Poor Grimes alas, joins the quack class
          That prowl, and howl and growl.
Matriculated black jack ass,
          Inoculated owl;
Dreams he's in a grove of myrtles.
          Little nits are hatching
Cunning miniatures of turtles.
          See! he keeps on scratching.

The Angels weep, the Devils chant.
          Triumphant howls are cast.
The teeth are gnashed, they gurgle, pant,
          "He's one of us at last."
One week ago his soul was ripe
          And now he smokes the Devil's pipe.

The dying sinner calmly rests
          Upon the Persian rugs
Beside the dead potato pests,
          Those red and yellow bugs.
The soul departs. Where? You know well:
          Where everything is ripe.
Poor Grimes, now in the seventh Hell
          Forever hits the pipe.

Old Satan hugs the pipe and bugs.
          Ten thousand stinging adders
Assail the sinner, jam the jugs
          Chuck full of serpents' bladders,
And plant him in the Devil's patch
          Where sinners hit the pipe and scratch.

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