Poetry Archives

In the wilds of Madagascar, Dwelt a Boola-boola maid;
For her hand young men would ask her, But she always was afraid.
Oh that Boola-boola maid She was living in the shade Of a spreading Yum-yum tree;
And—when the day was done At the setting of the sun, She would make this melodee: 

As this ditty she was cooing, Came a Boola-boola man;
And he lost no time in wooing; For he punched her on the pan.
Oh that Boola-boola maid She was terribly afraid So he punched her on the eye;
And—then he laugh’d with glee As beneath the Yum-yum tree He—heard that maiden cry: 

Then with shrieks of ribald laughter, Said the Boola-boola man;
“If it’s only socks you’re after, I will do the best I can.
I have handed you a pair, And I’ve plenty more to spare,” So he socked her on the nose;
And a woeful maid was she, As beneath the Yum-yum tree, This—lamentation ‘rose: 

Now the wedding tom-tom’s over, for this Boola-boola maid;
And when ev’ning shadows hover, She no longer is afraid.
For she weasrs a palm-leaf pinny And she rocks a pickaninny In the shade of the Yum-yum tree,
And she’s happy with her he-man, Though she still dreams of a She-man, As she sings this song with glee: 

        Chorus:
        Oh—I don’t want my cave-man to caress me,
        Oh I don’t want no coal-black heads to press me.
        All I want is a fellow who wears suspenders,
        That’ll be the coon to whom this babe surenders.
        For the man I wed must have a proper trouseau.
        On none of your fig-leaf dudes will make me do so.
        For it’s funny how I feel, But I’m crazy for socks appeal
        And my dream is to marry a man with a pair of socks.