GOVERNOR, 1906
| Who's Zoo in America |
| Governor Samuel Whangdoodle Pennypacker |
| Like Noah Webster, he reclines |
| Within his easy chair, |
| A-tapping wisdom's sacred mines |
| And calling here and there, |
| Yet all he finds of perfect minds |
| Up to the present day |
| Are Moses, Plato, Socrates, |
| Himself and Matthew Quay. |
| He's written over fifty books |
| And some are nearly good— |
| On railroad jobs, successful snobs |
| And human brotherhood; |
| And he can speak in French and Greek |
| On topics of the day, |
| Like Moses, Plato, Socrates, |
| Himself and Matthew Quay |
| Oh! Philadelphia's Sabbath calm |
| Sits on his holiness |
| Until by chance his eyeballs glance |
| Across the daily press— |
| Then pale before his grumblous roar |
| Reporters flee away, |
| Who took in vain by words profane |
| The name of him and Quay. |
| Yet soft he roareth since the hour |
| When good Saint Graft was hurled |
| By anger quick upon the kick |
| That echoed round the world |
| And cautiously he goes by night, |
| And cautiously by day, |
| For fear some ripe tomato might |
| Be aimed at him or Quay. |
| But when again the Heavens smile |
| And public wrath is spent. |
| When Philadelphia sleeps awhile, |
| Corrupted but content; |
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