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Category: Funny Satire Poems
       Classic humorous and funny poems using irony, exaggeration and ridicule, to expose and criticize stupidity and vices.


Gineral B. is a sensible man;
    He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;
He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,
    An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes;
                                But John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.

My! ain't it terrible? Wut shall we do?
    We can't never choose him, o' course--that's flat:
Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?),
    An' go in for thunder an' guns, an' all that;
                                Fer John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.

Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man:
    He's been on all sides that give places or pelf;
But consistency still was a part of his plan--
    He's been true to' one party, and that is himself;
                                So John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

Gineral C. goes in for the war;
    He don't vally principle mor'n an old cud;
What did God make us raytional creeturs fer,
    But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?
                                So John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

We're gettin' on nicely up here to our village,
    With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't;
We o' thought Christ went against war and pillage,
An' that eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;
                                But John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

The side of our country must ollers be took,
    An' President Pulk, you know, he is our country;
An' the angel that writes all our sins in a book,
    Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry;
                                An' John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.

Parson Wilbur he calls all these arguments lies;
    Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest fee, faw, fum;
An' that all this big talk of our destinies
    Is half on it ignorance, an' t'other half rum;
                                But John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez it ain't no such thing; an', of course, so must we.

Parson Wilbur sez he never heered in his life
    Thet the Apostles rigg'd out in their swallow-tail coats,
An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,
    To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes;
                                But John P.
                                Robinson, he
        Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.

Wal, it's a marcy we're gut folks to tell us
    The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow--
God sends country lawyers an' other wise fellers
    To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough;
                             For John P.
                             Robinson, he
        Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!

                                                            James Russell Lowell.

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