What shall I do without my fife,
It is the jewel of my life.
I shake the roasted veal. Fierce strife
          Is mangling my spine.
Oh, my lost fife! I am a clown,
Impelled to wander up and down,
Searching each corner of the town.
          Vengeance will soon be mine.

The day I seek the barber shop,
I throw away the mutton chop,
I hurry to the red-head Wop,
          I leave my beaten path.
Yes, after this I'll take a scrub
More frequently within the tub,
And after I have had a rub
          I'll seek the shower bath.

I lingered in the barber shop,
I whispered to the red-head Wop.
He shook his head, and said "Pray, stop,
          Your turn you cannot steal."
The red-head barber crooked his head,
Then spoke again. He firmly said,
"Although I am the barber red,
          I play the even deal."

Then bowing to the red-head Wop,
Says I, "My friend, you have the drop."
Quickly I leave the barber shop.
          I feel just like an eel
Compelled to wear his skin. Poor me,
My heart doth spin. I cannot flee,
I stand enthralled. Again I see
          The roasted leg of veal.

I feel a spasm. Oh, the pain!
I hurry down the country lane.
My rubber neck I twist, I crane,
          I stand entranced at bay.
I feel a dizziness, I reel.
My spine is writhing like an eel,
I see the girl with the blistered heel
Limping along that way.

She said to me, "You are a fish,
I swear you'll never have your wish,
Before I'm through with you, I'll dish
          You up and make you squeal.
I'll make you pay the piper well,
You'll often wish you'd gone to Hell,
Before you fell beneath my spell,
          Th' girl with the blistered heel."

I hear the rattle of a coach,
The black maria doth encroach.
Two men in uniform approach,
          They grab me, hear them yell.
They push me in the bus, they yank
Me down. I hear the chauffer crank
The wheel. We're off, I've got it—rank,
          Where Kitty wore the bell.

I found myself inside the jail
Without a friend to go my bail.
They bring a dish of roasted kale
          With chops. My teeth rejoice.
Inside a cell across the aisle,
I see the pretty face whose style—
That fairy form, that winsome smile—
          And then I hear her voice.

Her low voice murmurs, "Thus I seal
Thy fate, now hasten, do thy spiel.
Deep vengeance may you ever feel,
          Thou worst of evil men.
You scorn the dish of roasted veal,
Upon your luck you turn your heel.
And now depart. Forever squeal.
          Go join thy Nicky Ben."

Most fatal malediction grim,
Uttered with energetic vim.
My heart grows faint, my eyes grow dim,
          The demon grabs my soul.
We float along a darksome slough,
We pause—the demon makes his bow,
Gives me a walking-stick. Oh, how,
          How dare I sip the bowl?

I find myself alone. My ear
Is ringing. Now I shake with fear,
No wonder. All is black, all drear.
          I draw my trusty knife.
I sharpen it upon a brick.
The walking-stick is very thick,
I scrape it thinner, oh, so slick!
          This is the proper life.

I never pause, I scrape the cane—
That sound—is it a weather vane—
That racket? 'Tis an aeroplane
Doing its mighty spiel,
Whilst hanging from the flying frame
That human form, the pretty dame,
Swings high upon the frame—the same,
Th' girl with the blistered heel.

Dear maiden, hide thy heel, retrench
Thy stench. Repent thy spiel and wrench
Thy putrid cuticle. Vile wench—
          Begone, athletic hen!
Why ride upon that aeroplane?
Why do you bid me scrape the cane?
You give me such a large-sized pain.
          Return to Nicky Ben.

I've lost my fife. The devil's coop—
That open door—that fiendish troop
Of scorpions, keep them off, they scoop,
          They tear my very life
From out my gut. That turkey hen—
Mercy, thou cobbler, Nicky Ben.
Keep off the dreadful gobbler. When—
          When will they bring my fife?

KEY

The hero of this gruesome tale
Once ate a dish of poisoned kale,
Was sent to jail, got out on bail,
          And then his blistered wife
Refused to live with him again.
Old Nicky Ben possessed him then.
He lost his mind completely when
          Some rascal stole his fife,
Dearer to him than any Strad.
Ah, then he went completely mad.
All his affairs went very bad,
          He croaked away his life!

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