Now when I began on this drawing stuff
I was only a wee small pup.
What a shame my pop with his razor strop
Didn’t wham me ’til I woke up.
Yes, the art was bad–still you couldn’t blame dad
For not halting me then, in time;
For he no doubt thought I’d amount to aught
As an artist along some line.
And I might have too, now I’m telling you
But for one thing that reared its head.
‘Twas the ugly curse of this writing verse–
NEED THERE ANYTHING ELSE BE SAID?
by Ray Romine Saturday, May 20, 1933
