THE LOST DOLLAR
I lost a dollar bill one day, it wasn’t much,
It wouldn’t even pay the interest on one small debt,
And yet it made me that dodgasted sore,
I dreamed about it for a week or more.
And if I went to buy a tie or collar,
I’d think what more I could have had,
Had I not lost that dollar.
I cut my smoking down, reduced my drinks,
And padded my accounts with skill,
Hoping to catch up with that lost bill;
But no matter how I’d cut and scrape,
Figure it as I would in any shape,
I still remained behind that cussed piastre,
It loomed up disproportionate like a huge disaster,
Until one day after a plenteous dinner,
Feeling quite satisfied as any sinner,
I fell to thinking of discounts and commissions,
And laid the ghost of that lost buck
By charging it to Foreign Missions.
The virtue of the act gave me relief,
Balanced my cash and stayed my grief,
Now every date whereat I write
A charge to Foreign Missions,
I know,
That I’ve been out at night.