Throw another log on the fire, boys,
while I unfurl a tail.
I've been all over this continent.
I've been from coast to coast.
I've even been up as far as
Quebec, Mass.
I've fought my way up to the Nile,
to the very top floor.
And I've even tracked a polecat
to its pole.
I've had the yellowjack.
I've been shot full of holes.
I've even grabbed an army mule,
plumped by the plumper.
But I've never been so ripsawed,
highfalutin' mad,
as the night I was reclinin' on my Louis
XIV Derriere.
It all started when the telephone tinkled.
Pickin' up the receiver,
I said, oui, oui.
You see, it was a French phone.
The Secretary of State was callin'.
He said, Jimmy, we need you
for an important mission.
Do you know any
thing about foreign relations?
I said, foreign relations?
Why, you're talking to a guy
who's got 15 relatives living
in Brooklyn.
How preposterous.
So I said to him, Sec,
I addresses him in
the subjunctive.
My regrets, but I never can voice busi
ness over the phone.
I'll see you tomorrow in D .C.
at P .M. sharp.
So that evening, at cocktail time,
I gets aboard the Congressional
Limited.
The train was jammed, so
what happens?
I had to share my upper berth
with a guy named Joe.
It was too crowded up there
for both of us
to get undressed at the same time,
so I comes down, Joe stays up,
he takes off his coat.
Then Joe comes down, I goes
up, I takes off his shoes.
I comes down, Joe goes up,
he takes off his shirt.
Joe comes down,
I goes up, I takes off my pants.
I comes down, Joe goes up,
he puts on his pajamas.
Joe comes down, I goes up,
I puts on my pajamas.
Now we're ready to light down
and go to sleep.
And what happens? It's morning.
We've got to start all
over again.
I comes down, Joe stays up,
he takes off his pajamas.
Joe comes down, I goes up,
I takes off my pajamas.
I comes down, Joe goes up,
he puts on my pants.
Joe comes down, I goes up,
I puts on his shirt.
I comes down, Joe goes up,
he puts on my shoes.
Joe comes down, I goes up,
I puts on his coat.
Now I don't know whether
I'm Joe or Joe is me.
It's a case of double identity.
He gets off at my station,
I gets off at his station.
His wife runs over to me,
throws her arms around my neck,
gives me a kiss, and says,
Congratulations, Joe,
you're the father
of a nine -pound baby boy.
What a dilemma.
But what could I do about it?
Nothing.
So I went to Hoboken to forget,
and then I went to Hackensack to
forget Hoboken.
That's my story, boys.
So throw another log on the fire.
What? No more logs?
Good night, folks.
Good night. you