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Dangerous Maggie Jones
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//Archive-name: dangerous-maggie-jones
//Author: Nurse Jones
//Title: Poem, Dangerous Maggie Jones
>From Nurse Jones,
"Is this thing on?" Nurse Jones taps the microphone and blows into
it. Thunk, thunk, huff, huff. She is standing on a small stage in a
shabby, smoke-filled bar where the after theatre ASB crowd hangs out.
It is three in the morning, the bar has closed, and the members of
the band are putting away their instruments behind her.
"Um, I have some announcements to make before we get started."
"What's that you're wearing, Maaaaaaargaret?" There's a heckler
in the audience. "I liked the corset a LOT more." Other voices join
in. "Yeah! What is this? We were expecting something, you know, sexy."
Nurse Jones is dressed like a miniature lumberjack, with a plaid
flannel shirt and suspenders, jeans, and worn leather boots. There
is duct tape wrapped around the toe of one boot.
"Settle down, Goose, you're drunk."
"Drunk?! Hey! I'm not drunk," yells Blue Goose. He's feeling rowdy
after his delurking. "I wanna second opinion!"
"Okay: you're obnoxious."
Shaboomp-pah... The drummer from the band is still there.
Nurse Jones straightens an imaginary necktie in imitation of Rodney
Dangerfield, her favorite comedian after the classic Bush- Quayle
team.
"But seriously folks, I DO have an anouncement. As you know, we
celebrated National Condom Week last week, and, even though it ended
in a disaster, I want to thank you all for your enthusiastic
participation in the parade. Those of you that only recently made
bail may not have heard that the ASB float was impounded, so it
looks like we are out some bucks...
"Awwwwwww!" The audience choruses their disappointment.
"... since this means ten thousand square yards of latex down the
tubes. Plus, the deal with the hot air balloon manufacturer will
probably fall through. Clearly, this city has no aesthetic sense."
The nurse pauses so Harlan, lurking in the dimly lit back row, can
look up "aesthetic." The audience murmurs disgruntled agreement: the
city has no vision.
The nurse shuffles her notes and continues: "The second
announcement is my own. It is directed at all you lurkers in the back
row. Yes, you. We've had a couple of delurkings recently, and I
must say I learned a lesson, and I hope you have, too. Someone,
Gregory I think, did a wonderful job on stage tonight, as I'm sure the
after-theatre crowd will agree."
Applause and whistles.
"And Aviator's tasteful entrance earned him a warm welcome."
More applause.
"And I can assure you that another even more charming
delurking is on the way. I won't tell you her name, but I suspect that
she is, at this very moment, writing her own one-person grand
entrance. I understand it may involve sky-writing...
"Blue Goose, on the other hand, gave us a good example of why some
birds eat their own young.
"Anyway, I was thinking about this last night, and I came to a
decision. I took a vote, and I believe I am unanimous in this:
look before you delurk. Everyone has opinions all the time, but
delurking is like losing your virginity: you only get to do it once.
Except for Blue Goose, of course.
"I'm not trying to keep down the signal/noise ratio here, I'm just
suggesting that an entertaining performance will make you more
welcome than an opinion. Or a "You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead"
post.
"So anyway: make a splash, not a smudge. That's some good advice I
thought I'd pass on. I always pass on good advice. It's never any good
to me. Trust me, I know about this. I fell flat on my face when I
delurked, and Michael had to pick me up twice.
"And now for the main attraction. Which incidentally will explain
why I am dressed this way.
"Um, isn't there supposed to be a spotlight or something now?"
There is a scuffling sound in the back of the barroom and a glass
breaks. The lights go out and a single spot appears over Nurse
Jones' head; it contracts until it is a tiny circle of light.
*blink!* Nightfly *blink!* adjusts to the brightness.
POINK! An object flips through the air toward Nurse Jones and lands at
her feet in the pool of light. She stoops to pick it up. It is a
clothes pin.
"Okay, where did this come from?" She holds up the pin.
There are giggles and shuffling noises near the front row. Someone
says, "Lothie. I think she took a deep breath."
"Okay, lets settle down, now. And Michael, take off that
ridiculous hat. Roo can't see over you. I'm going to read a poem, and I
want your full attention."
There is a mixture of groans and polite applause from the
audience. Not poetry again, they are thinking.
She takes a wad of cocktail napkins out of her shirt pocket and
waves them at the audience.
"This is an unpublished poem that I think may be by Robert W.
Service. You know him: he's kind of the poet laureate of the
Yukon. He's famous for an epic poem about a desperado named
Dangerous Dan McGrew. Anyway, I found the poem in a trunk I
inherited from my great grandmother. It is written on seven old
yellow cocktail napkins and it was tucked into an empty knife
sheath. A biiiig knife sheath. In the trunk."
"I hope I got the napkins in the right order. There is even stage
direction written in the margins," she says, gesturing with the napkin
again.
"Anyway, the poem seems to be about my granny, and it takes place in
a famous bar in San Francisco. A bar very much like this one," the
nurse says, looking around.
As she talks, the darkness behind her lightens to reveal a dimly
lit barroom scene. The place is deserted and seems to have been closed
up for the night. There is a row of stools upended on top of the bar,
and one stool stands alone on the floor; it has a knife handle
sticking out of the seat. She walks to the bar and begins taking the
stools down.
"The poem tells a story of things that took place nearly a century
ago. As I say, it seems to be about my great grandmother;
she was also a nurse, by the way, and I was named after her.
"For those of you that were wondering, my wisdom teeth are healed,
but I want you to know that I'm still not used to it -- just in
case my tongue gets stuck in my cheek or something. Besides, I've
never recited poetry before."
She walks behind the bar. The spot follows her into the dim setting.
There are more tables in the background, all with chairs upended on
them. And somehow, cobwebs and dust seem to have accumulated on
everything, just since closing time.
She runs three draft beers and puts them on the bar next to a jar
containing what appears to be a blob of cottage cheese floating
in murky liquid.
Then she moves a stool to center stage and sits directly under the
spotlight. She takes one last look down the length of the bar.
There is a dusty cowboy hat hanging on a peg on the wall at the far end
of the bar.
"I know you aren't all poetry fans," she waits a little while and then
smiles a little smile. "That's tough. The poem is titled:
'Dangerous Maggie Jones, RN' or 'A Tale of Love and Romance in Old
San Francisco'
[Note to ASB readers: I suggest you ignore the stage
direction if you actually read this. I only put it in because I
wanted a faithful copy of the napkins. ;-) ]
"And if you poetry aces want verse about places like Singapore or
Nantucket, or if five hundred lines is just too many rhymes, well,
then dump this in your bit bucket."
Napkin #1:
Stranger, I think, if you'll buy me a drink, That I'll tell you a tale
or two About a lady I hear could strike stark fear Into Dangerous Dan
McGrew.
There's a story they tell, about a nurse from Hell Who changed the
meaning of Sin. Now, it couldn't be true, but I know Dan McGrew And he
was there when she walked in The nurse stands
up... To the meanest leather bar in the world by far Down by the old
shipping docks ...dips a chip... Where
they dip their chips in crisco whipped With broken glass and
rocks. ...walks over to Michael, and
Today it's just a dive where the Harley boys jive feeds him
a About the way things used to be, potato
chip. But way back then, when the Nurse walked in They called it
'Ragtime Eddie McFee's.' She When she kicked in the door with a boot
sized four hooks her thumbs And she stood with her thumbs in
her jeans in her jeans and Every eye in the place
turned to look at the face looks toward the Of the toughest
dame they'd ever seen. barroom door.
She smiled her smile and stood there a while She
smiles, As the cards on the tables fell silent And the pianola
slowed, as the story is told, For the five-foot-two inch giant.
Ragtime Eddie in a voice unsteady Said, "Maggie, long time no see.."
And Maggie, she said, as she nodded her head, "Well if it ain't
Little Eddie McFee."
Now Ragtime Eddie was six-foot twenty And he weighed in at
three-oh-one; But his hand, it shook, as he reached for the hook Where
he kept his old shotgun.
But she held up her hand and said, "Cool it, man, holds up
her I'm on vacation this week." hand,
then And the music resumed as the rest of the room,
swaggers over Well, they breathed a sigh of
relief. to the bar.
Then she spit across the room and rattled the spittoon (plinking
sound On the floor between Dan McGrew's feet; of
coin dropped It was her expectoration that aroused his
adoration ina can.) And turned old Dan's heart sweet,
'Cause the use of a spittoon when there was so much room On the floor
was a mark of good breeding. Gestures at It was the
femininity of the gesture, you see, expanse of That
appealed to his finer feelings. empty floor.
So it was sheer class that made our lass The object of Dan's affection,
Plus, her aim was so true, well, I tell you, It would give any man an
erection.
Napkin #2:
I guess the point, my friend, is that the bars and the men Were
different in Old San Fran, And, though the women wore pants, there was
still romance For a sensitive fella like Dan.
But there was no such thing as a fern bar then, If you can believe the
tales; The drag queens for starters wore barbed wire garters, And for
roughage, they ate nails.
So stranger, when I say that the good old days Are gone and won't
return, Don't think you're tough if you eat green stuff At a bar
where they have ferns. "How tough were
they?" someone Ya see the brain in the jar by the till on the
bar? shouts... Well, if you read the plaque, young fella, It
says 'In memory of Fred, who ate his own head, After somebody called
him vanilla.'
It's a pretty tough place if you'll eat your own face Because somebody
called you a flavor, But the adjective's right, ol' Fred was
lilly-white, Compared to this Nurse Jones caper.
So order us some beer and a tale you'll hear But don't just order
two. Best order three, for you and for me, And for the ghost of Dan
McGrew. She takes a beer from the bar and
Look around this room and pretty soon looks
around the The ghosts will come alive,
room, seeing And a story they'll tell of how the Nurse from
Hell an imaginary Came to Ragtime Eddie's
dive. crowd...
Yes, if old Fred's brain could talk again About what he saw back
then, The story he could tell would weave such a spell As to stand
your hair on end.
You see that old fool by the rickety stool With the knife stuck through
the seat? A spotlight brightens That knife was left
there by a nurse so fair over the stool with That strong
men swooned at her feet. the knife handle.
And that drunken old man who can barely stand Will tell you for the
price of a beer, Of how his hair turned white on the fateful night That
Nurse Jones walked in here.
She ordered her drink, black coffee, I think, Like boiling tar, they
say. She stirs her beer She stuck in her
thumb just to stir it some with her thumb and 'Cause she
hadn't been hurt that day. takes a drink.
Then a feller strolls in, orders straight gin, And tips his cowboy hat,
Then he sits at the bar where the regulars are And says, "I ain't here
to chat.
"When I came in the door, I was lookin' for A Registered Nurse named
Jones, But that couldn't be you, you're just five foot two, And they
say she can crush men's bones."
"Does she wear sunglasses? Like tight little asses?" She said, as she
turned her back, "Well, that could be me, but I'm five foot three
'Cause I spent last night on the rack."
"I got more hormones in my little toes Than you've got in all of your
glands So be careful, my son, 'till you know how it's done And maybe
you'll leave here a man."
He said, "In San Fran, I hear tell, m'am, The city puts tax on
rubbers." "Spelled 'T, A, C, K, S,' little man, It's to keep 'em on our
lovers.
"'Cause Out in San Fran, where a man's a man, And, unfortunately, so
are the women, We keep it all together with thumbtacks and leather And,
sometimes, a bit o' chrome trimmin'."
"Yeah, we have to wear leather in all kinds of weather Snow, hail,
sleet, rain or shine. We're in this quandry 'cause we can't hang
laundry Since the clothespin rush of '89." She
tosses the clothespin back "Well, I aint so sure, but you could be
her," to Lothie... Said the cowboy to the lady, "They
say she plays songs in a bar that belongs To a fellow called Ragtime
Eddie."
"Well, I used to play bassoon, in the old back room, So you might be
lookin' for me. And if it's me you want, then you're in the right
haunt 'Cause it's owned by Eddie McFee."
"Well, they say you're tough, and they say you're rough, And they even
say you're pretty. But if you're Nurse Jones, I'm gonna break your
bones, Before I leave this city.
"They call me Big Jay, from down Pecos way, And I'm the best there is,
And I hear tell this Nurse from Hell Ain't nothin' but a weak gin
fizz."
Napkin #3
Well, the music stopped, you could have heard a pin drop; Every man
there held his breath. And a bar stool creaked as McGrew turned to
peek ... a stool creaks... At the boy who was facing his death.
Big John Slade, he pulled down the shade, And Ed hung a sign that
said, "Closed," the nurse steps out And they cleared a
space around the place of the spotlight and Where the
pair stood nose to nose. it widens as she points
to where the She drew her blade from a sheath she'd made
two imaginary figures Of a mountain lion's
tongue, stand in the light. And, testing
the steel with a sensuous feel, She said, "Y'er talkin' crazy, son."
He said, "No, I'm not, an' if you're half as hot As I've heard them
say back home, I'm gonna dance the dance that needs no pants With
Dangerous Maggie Jones."
He said, "I'm here to make you into Nurse Jones stew." She said, "Son,
you talk like a fool. But I won't need a knife to suck out yer life,"
Then she stuck her blade through that stool. Points
dramatically at the stool. She said, "Come on along, this won't take
long." In a voice deceptively mild, "It'll leave me time to get back
to Ob Gyn, And have my cervix filed."
He said, "Before we go, I've got to know About those thangs yawl got
Under yore shirt, I know they must hurt Even though they look real
hot."
"Why, these little things? They're just nipple rings," She said to
the young buffoon, "I hang by these from my trapeze, While I play my
contrabassoon.
"Son, I hope you knew what you were gettin' into When you walked into
this scene. 'Cause out here we screw 'till we're black and blue Just
to change the color scheme.
"An' I didn't learn to nurse just to fill my purse: I have to know
where everything is. 'Cause when I'm through, what I like to do, Is
give a man back what's his.
"So I have to know where all the organs go, Or a man won't look quite
right. I try to reassemble him so his parts'll work again, Provided
he survives the night.
"Son, you may think you're tough, an' you may think you're rough, But
I think you dress far too neat For a fella who sounds like he wants
to go a round Between thighs that can crack concrete."
Then Eddie stepped in, and tried to be a friend To the boy that was
facing his fate. "Son, there ain't no shame, an' you'll keep your
good name If you back out before it's too late.
"Son, this lady sweats during casual sex Just to cut down on unwanted
flames. Why, she's cooked so much meat from frictional heat, I don't
even know all their names.
"A stranger to 'Frisco once tried to use Crisco NJ turns her
back, And he ended up frying his fish. looks
over her No, it ain't no joke if a man smells smoke
shoulder, and After going a round with this
dish. licks her thumb; applies it to her "'Round
here, it's a rookie that smokes after nookie; derriere, and makes
You'd be better off to check for broke bones, a hissing
sound: 'Cause you might have to run for the creek, my son,
"Tsssst!" of vapor- If you live through a night with Nurse
Jones." izing water.
Why, even Fred's cerebellum would have tried to tell 'im If it could
have only spoken, Rests her hand on That
any man who would chance to take off his pants the jar, pats it
Around her has got a main spring broken.
affectionately.
But the cowboy, he said to Eddie McFee "The womun ain't born I caint
beat; (pronounced 'bate' in Texas) It's a point o' honor
and I gotta jump on her Fer the glory o' the Lone Star State."
Well, Ragtime Eddie, he shook his head sadly And he said, "Son, you
oughta go home. I know a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, But
he shouldn't have to do Nurse Jones."
Well, the boy looked scared, but his shoulders he squared, And he faced
his coming doom; She told him, "Say 'goodbye'," then she took his
string tie, NJ pulls an And led him on out of the
room. imaginary string tie Now, Eddie
gives young men a bottle of gin over her The first
time in his back room. shoulder. The
boy kicked off his shoes and took a swaller o' the booze, And he got
it down none too soon,
'Cause she sucked him right in with his bottle of gin, Before he even
knew he had troubles. They say he disappeared right up to his ears,
And she blew him back out in bubbles.
She rattled all the bottles when she went to half-throttle,
Points to And the oil lamp started to
swing. bottles A windowpane cracked,
and the dogs out back behind bar. All started to
howl and sing. Gentle tink- tink
noise. The plaster, they say, cracked during foreplay, And the
floorboards creaked and groaned, And they heard a sound like a rumble
underground As the water mains burst and foamed.
And Eddie caught Fred's jar as it rolled off the bar An' he put him in
the sink for safe keeping. But a geyser from the drain blew old
Fred's brain Straight up and he stuck to the
ceiling. Makes face and looks at Then Short
Time Sam shouted, "Boys, lend a hand! ceiling over
There's a rafter comin' up through the floor!" bar
sink. So they tied it to a table with a pair of jumper cables That
belonged to a mexican whore.
Napkin #4:
Now Tijuana Lil, she gets twitchy still, If you mention her jumper
cables. She'd left 'em there when she had a bad scare Which seems t'
be a part of this fable.
She once tried to jump start the heart of Bad Bart, But they hauled
him away in a hearse. He learned the hard way, the price you can
pay, Just for kissing Maggie the Nurse.
They heard a Lone Star Shout and the windows blew out Of Ragtime
Eddie's back room, And one man swears that there came to his ears, The
sound of a contrabassoon.
It was the year of ought-six when she turned that trick In Eddie's
back room that day, And good men have sworn there was a 'quake that
morn But the Ragtime Boys, they say
That it didn't stop shakin' 'till Maggie stopped makin' That cowboy
dance her tune, And the tremors didn't smooth 'till the door knob
moved On Eddie McFee's back room.
Well, the hinges creaked, an' they musta been weak 'Cause they came
loose from the door. And in a shower of dust, the door frame just
Kinda fell out onto the floor.
A wisp o' smoke that smelled o' burnt cowpoke Drifted out from the
old back room, And Ed looked around as more plaster fell down, And
said, "I guess I'll have to get me a broom."
The foundation settled as the woman of mettle Stepped out to greet
them all, Steps forward And as she stood
there a while and smiled her smile, over imaginary The last
picture frame fell off the wall. door and brushes
dust from cloth- She wore a cowboy hat, and with a splintered
slat ing. from the bed, she was picking her teeth, She
stepped over the door and said, "I'd like some more Of that
tenderized Texas beef."
As she said those words, a last noise was heard: Cups ear
toward A faint gasp of disbelief;
bar. The boy from out West had detumesced And was overcome by
grief.
Maggie said to Ed, "You'd better scrape Fred Back down off the
ceilin'. And I'll buy some fresh gin to pickle him in Just in case I
hurt his feelin's."
And then Eddie McFee said, "There ain't no need, It's the best time
Fred's had in years." She said, "Just the same, I'm the one to blame,
And I'd like to stand a round of beers."
So they righted their stools and in memory of the fool Adjusts
stool, That took on the woman of steel,
Sits at bar. The boys sat and drank and gave secret thanks That they
had survived the ordeal.
Napkin #5:
You see next to the bar? Back of old Fred's jar? Points with
beer Where that dusty old shotgun stands? stein
toward cow- A-hangin' next to that, you'll see a cowboy hat
boy hat, spot With a splinter stuck in the
band. brightens on hat.
And that door behind the bar, where the cobwebs are Has been closed
for many long years, But they say to this day that you can hear Big
Jay Still back there, sheddin' his tears.
For he never came out, the Lone Star Lout, And Ragtime, he wouldn't go
in To clean up the bones after Maggie Jones, Redefined the meaning of
Sin.
That hat and the stool with the knife stuck through, They're the only
souvenirs, Of a time folks have called the worst 'quake of all For
lo, these many years.
But I'm sure you know how such legends grow, And how folks all snug
in their homes, Feel a lot more safe believin' in 'quakes Than
believin' in Maggie Jones.
Now, before it all stopped, some fool called a cop, And soon he was on
the scene. He took a look around, and somethin' he found Made him
turn a pale shade o' green.
So he spoke to the Nurse in a voice kinda terse: "You're the party of
the first part, y'see, But there's too many second parts in that back
room, And that's a mystery to me.
"'Cause you look fine and dandy, like you've been eatin' candy, But
these other fellers look like hell. And could I be mistaken, or is
someone fryin' bacon? Makes I ain't sure I reco'nize that
smell." sniffing gesture... He said,
"Lady, I'm alarmed, are you certain you're unarmed? Something seems
fishy to me. I'll have to run you in, or my name ain't Flynn, Unless
you can explain what I see."
She said, "I never would refuse to show the weapon I use To an honest
man a-wearin' the blue. So if you're an honest man, come on back to
the can And I'll show you what it is that I can do."
Well, it must have been a sight, 'cause he turned from green to white
And he ordered whiskey with a sidecar. And once he'd settled down, he
drank another around With the boys that were a-sittin' at the bar.
He said, "Well, as for me, boys, I never did see, A clearer case o'
willful suicide. The safest explanation is a movin' violation, And
we'll have to let the murder charge slide."
Then he looked her in the eye and let out a big sigh, And it seemed
as though he wanted to weep. He said, "I have to give you a stern
talking to, Or my conscience won't let me sleep."
He said, "They register nurses and they register guns Pretending
to be >From Reno to South Carolina a
cop, NJ lectures But out here, ma'm, if you stay in San
Fran, an empty barstool. You gotta register that
vagina.
"Yes, little lady, you may think it crazy, But we do things different
out here. Why, even our condoms have numbers stamped on 'em And we
take inventory each year." NJ sits on stool
and answers cop. "Why officer Flynn," she said with a grin, As she
turned her stool back to the bar, "Are you sure that's true? I'd think
a man like you, Would never roll one down that far."
Napkin #6:
Well, the legends say that some fine day A man with an iron sphincter
Will come in here and order two beers, And prove he's a two fisted
drinker.
With a beer in each hand that iron man, Will sit on that old bar
stool Nurse puts And with a smile on
his face pull the knife from it's place hand on knife. And say,
"Maggie, this butt's for you." Audience And on that day, or so the
legends say, groans... The Nurse will come back
home To old San Fran to claim her man In Eddie McFee's back room.
Now, many have tried, and some have died Tryin' to pull that old
knife free, But despite all the wear, that blade's still
there, Takes hand off At Ragtime Eddie
McFee's. knife, looks at stool,
makes So we warn folk that it ain't no joke
disgusted face, Even after all these
years wipes hand on When a stranger
like you makes an order for two shirt... Of Ragtime
Eddie's beers.
So be careful my son, and order one, Or if you want, you can order
three, But only a fool would order just two, And risk a
prostate-ectomy.
Well, I can hear by the chime that it's closing time, And my tale is
nearly through. And that drunken old guy with the tic in his eye
Will be over here to claim his brew.
But before I go on, I got to tell you, son This Dangerous Dan was the
worst. I'd pity the man that looked funny at Dan, 'Cause he'd leave
the room feet first. "How bad was he?" someone
shouts. Would you believe it mister, he never shaved a whisker Off his
horny hide? He hammered in the bristles with the butt end of a pistol
And bit them off inside.
Now my friend Dan, he was Maggies man, So this story just might be
true: Think if you would of the woman that could Top Dangerous Dan
McGrew.
Yes, Dangerous Dan was a rock-hard man, But that night he just sat and
stared. If you combine hormones with Maggie Jones, It's more than any
man can bear.
Men change their names when they marry dames Of Dangerous Maggie's
fame, And that's how her man got "Dangerous Dan" Appended to his
name.
They moved away, to Indianny they say, But Dan ended up a wreck. It
was, in the end, the way she (pause) blew woodwind That shuffled the
poor man's deck.
So Old Dan ran away, to the Yukon, they say Just as far as he could
get from Indianny, An' he finally made a go with a gay eskimo By the
name of Klondyke Annie. Audience groans...
Yes, poor old Dan left a broken man, And he got away none too soon;
Why, to this very day, he will kneel and pray Whenever he hears a
bassoon.
And that broken old fool tradin' stories by the stool? Well, he says
he knew Maggie Jones, With the ice-blue eyes, and the iron thighs That
could crack a strong man's bones. Slaps thigh
on word "crack!" We call him plain Dan, what's left of the man After
Maggie Jones got through. All his organs are blown, but he used to be
known As Dangerous Dan McGrew.
The times, they changed and he took a new name When the good old days
were through, When she melted his candle, he adopted the handle Of
Pretty Darn Bad McGrew.
He's been funny in the head since he left her bed, And he doesn't
remember too well, But that's par for the course if you hitch your
horse To the Registered Nurse from hell.
So he came back here to live out his years Bummin' drinks from folks
like you, And he'll stop by here to claim this beer, In just a minute
or two.
He's a little bit twitchy, and his trigger finger's itchy, 'Round
anyone that's five foot-two, But you should be allright if you nod
polite, And address him as "Mr. McGrew."
And if his hand it shakes when that beer he takes, Well, just try not
to show your scorn, Try to picture old Dan with a whiskey in his
hand Toasting gesture On the night that a legend was
born. with beer glass.
Napkin #7:
And when you go home tonight and you kiss your wife, And you're warm
and safe in your home, Think of that old guy a-sleepin' at the Y And
dreamin' of Maggie Jones.
And in later years, you can trade for beers On the story I've just told
you, And you can have great fun tellin' everyone How you don't
believe it's true.
You can tell your friends of the night you spent At Ragtime Eddie
McFee's, Drinkin' beer with a gal called Short Time Sal,
(man/Sam) if reader For you see, my friend, that's
me. is male...
And how you shook the hand of a drunken old man And bought him a beer
or two, And how he believed that long ago he Was Dangerous Dan
McGrew.
And when you grow old, and your story's been told, And you're weary in
the old-folks home, You'll wonder if you could have gone a round or
two And if you had the testosterone, And the strength and the nuts and
the downright guts To hear the cracking o' your own hip bones, If you
had dared to bed the woman all men dread: Dangerous Maggie
Jones!
Prettybad, Leatherclad, Don't make her mad, And just be glad You've
never had, Dangerous Maggie Jones!
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