There’s lots o’ friendly fellers in this here fine old town
Who come to see me regler, ‘cause I can’t git aroun’!
They’s awful good to bother about a chap like me,
An’ do me lots o’ favors they never let me see.

There’s Jim, my next-door neighbor, who sells the Morning Post,
He brings the funny papers, the kind I like the most.
An’ Ski, another newsie, who tells the latest dope
About the baseball players an’ good ole Doctor Hope.

There’s lots o’ friendly people if you could find ‘em out,
I know at least a hundred, there’s not a bit of doubt.
They’re sitting at your elbow, in office, school, and store,
They fill the baseball bleachers and sometimes live next door.

You pass them on the sidewalk, sit by them on the cars,
They’re willing to be friendly, but custom has its bars.
You meet them at the churches, at clubs, and picture shows,
Acquaintance might mean friendship and you’be pleased—who knows?


This poem is in the public domain.