"Rounds" Now Roundsy is a robin 'A sitting on a fence And we are all just wormsys 'A crawlin' round the bench. But when this bird begins to play We never duck nor squirm, Because his mellow music Pleases even lowly worms. I must admit the ivories This rotund lad can pound, For when the keylets tinkle No mug lets forth a sound. Except on sunny afternoons With spring from mount to lake, A gang does then surround him. Migawd! What a racket they make! Ellen the fair Ellen the beautiful Halgren, the maid of Gassed-a-lot. Oh, joyous I'd be If just once I could see Her soft pedal a mite on that baby-talk. J.G.'s definition of a hick (As delivered at Excelsior's banquet just before the Prom): "A guy that lives so far out in the sticks that the owls seduce his father's hense, can be termed a hick." P.S. This is the delicate subtlety Riley and Williams chortled over. A snake does gripe my very soul It's slimy life to pass, But worse than that, a stoolie ghoul Reeks just like pig-swilled grass! Fred (Yahbut) Lavin: "Yahbut that isn't done now, is it, Mr. Gray?"