O my prow vas plack mit curses,
Ven I dries to write dose verses;
Ven I dries to write dot boem,
Dot de best was effer been.
All in vain my peer I guzzles,
But I gannod solve dot broblem,
“Who's dot Western Pulleteen?”

Und I swear mit pleets and dvonder,
Und I ferry often wonder,
Would dot paber's cirgulation
Shusta little pigger been,
If dey toog deir scissor-pinchers,
Shust to cut some leetle inches
From that smarty-smarty writer
Of dot Western Pulleeteen.

“Let dose mountains fall and hide us”
Gry benighded odersiders,
Shame come round and woe betide us,
Und our fellow men deride us
If we effer yet can find oud
“Who's dot Western Pull-it-in?”