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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
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Death of a Croaker

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3775 reads)
You've heard of Montreal Maree

Death of a Croaker

You've heard of Montreal Maree,
    That rose of scented sin;
But are you hep to Doc' McGee
    Whose lubricant was gin?
The poor old Doc' has gone, I fear,
    To dry and dusty doom;
Yet why does Maree shed a tear
    So frequent on his tomb?

I'll tell you. It was in the whirl
    Around our Christmas tree,
Out shinning every glamour girl
    Was Montreal Maree;
And of the rowdy bunch of us
    Who round her feet did flock,
none was half so assiduous
    And ardent as the Doc'.

Then Maree mounted on the stage
    To do her special show,
Her Floradora dance the rage
    In circles Sourdough.
And as the boys stood up and cheered
        Them shapely limbs to see,
The gayest of he gang who peered
    Was gallant Doc' McGee.

Then suddenly she paused to show
    A needle and some thread:
"Can any of you smarties sew?
    I've split my tights," she said.
A hundred answered to her call:
    "We surely can," cried we;
Buy most vociferous of all
    Was grey-haired Doc' McGee.

I heard the warning of Maree;
    I saw the frenzied rush.
Alas! Too late - poor Doc' McGee
    Was trampled in the crush.
Aye, when we dragged him to the light
    That gay old guy was dead;
Yet lo! His dauntless hand held tight
    A needle and some thread.

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