* * * * * The Kid’s Last Fight Us two was pals, the Kid and me; ’Twould cut no ice if some gayzee, As tough as hell jumped either one, We’d both light in and hand him some. Both of a size, the Kid and me, We tipped the scales at thirty-three; And when we’d spar ’twas give and take, I wouldn’t slug for any stake. One day we worked out at the gym, Some swell guy hangin’ round called “Slim,” Watched us and got stuck on the Kid, Then signed him up, that’s what he did. This guy called “Slim” he owned a string Of lightweights, welters, everything; He took the Kid out on the road, And where they went none of us knowed. I guessed the Kid had changed his name, And fightin’ best ones in the game, I used to dream of him at night, No letters came—he couldn’t write. In just about two months or three I signed up with Bucktooth McGee, He got me matched with Denver Brown, I finished him in half a round. Next month I fought with Brooklyn Mike, As tough a boy who hit the pike; Then Frisco Jim and Battlin’ Ben, And knocked them all inside of ten. I took ’em all and won each bout, None of them birds could put me out; The sportin’ writers watched me slug, Then all the papers run my mug. “He’d rather fight than eat,” they said, “He’s got the punch, he’ll knock ’em dead.” There’s only one I hadn’t met, That guy they called “The Yorkshire Pet.” He’d cleaned ’em all around in France, No one in England stood a chance; And I was champ in U. S. A., And knocked ’em cuckoo every day. Now all McGee and me could think, Was how we’d like to cross the drink, And knock this bucko for a row, And grab a wagon load of dough. At last Mac got me matched all right, Five thousand smackers for the fight; Then me and him packed up our grip, And went to grab that championship. I done some trainin’ and the night Set for the battle, sure was right; The crowd was wild, for this here bout Was set to last till one was out. The mob went crazy when the Pet Came in, I’d never seen him yet; And then I climbed up through the ropes, All full of fight and full of hopes. The crowd gave me an awful yell, (’Twas even money at the bell) They stamped their feet and shook the place; The Pet turned ’round, I saw his face! My guts went sick, that’s what they did, For Holy Gee, it was the Kid! We just had time for one good shake, We meant it too, it wasn’t fake. Whang! went the bell, the fight was on. I clinched until the round was gone, A beggin’ that he’d let me take The fall for him—he wouldn’t fake. Hell, no, the Kid was on the square, And said we had to fight it fair, The crowd had bet their dough on us— We had to fight (the honest cuss).