Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 89

Today is Friday, the 3rd of January 2020.

A rainy Friday afternoon with not much to do.

And now a song that gives me a headache...

"Bromford City"

Came a card marked Bromford City

From my forwarder.

Shut the door, don't let my dad see;

Read aloud

Dear sir,

Understanding you account an upright gent-

lemen Aetna Life agreed and lent.

By the way, my fee is 2.6 percent.

Write again the Riceville widow

SASE.

I would guess they'll be turned out though

I'll still make my plea:

If the Dunlay heirs cannot be seen to care,

Then the Banker's Trust will surely think it fair

To not give extensions, as they mustn't dare.

Write Des Moines on several matters

And I near anoint,

Ladle thick the pleasant flatters,

And then comes the point;

Mr. Nelson wouldn't like to hear it said

As he's too proud, so I do it in his stead:

He shall need an extension--so it read.

--Take the Oregon Short Line to Salt Lake;

take the Pere Marquette, take the Michigan Central,

to West Madison for Christ's sake.

Forgemen, Molders, Blacksmiths, Boilermakers,

None on the make.

Up for shade on Crumb Hill

Get something to make my hands still.

But now--Wait.

How are you my nabs?

Little tender footed crabs,

Meet my knuckle duster.

You geeched that gazoon's gow

Tried to break into the bow:

Go wipe your nose.

I'm just hanging out with some noler knockums,

Passing time waiting till my stack comes.

Prussian who got jackered,

My snapper till your knockered,

Get on the snam.

The chivman wants your chip;

Better dummy up then go dip:

You're outta turn.

I learned that the lowest form of life is the buffer nabber,

Even worse than the dicer stabber.