“Open Thy Cupboard to Me.” — 457
All lonely and drear is the street, love;
The “watch” is asleep on his “beat,” love,
And I’m dying for something to eat, love;
So open thy cupboard to me.
Get up from that warm feather bed, love,
And bake us a cone of “corn bread,” love,
For I wish very much to be fed, love;
So open thy cupboard to me.
Oh, hasten thy lover to cram, love,
With a slice of cold turkey or ham, love,
For deucedly hungry I am, love;
So open thy cupboard to me.
The stars are beginning to “wink,” love;
’Tis the hour for “snacks” and for “drink,” love.
You’ve a jug of old whisky, I think, love;
So open thy cupboard to me.
The moon will be down before long, love,
And the “night-bird” is singing his song, love;
How plainly he says “mix it strong,” love,
And open thy cupboard to me.
My feet are all wet with the dew, love,
And there’s nothing so nice as “hot stew,” love:
Then get up and make it, pray do, love,
And open thy cupboard to me.
The chickens are crowing for day, love,
And I must soon hurry away, love;
Then list to thy lover’s last lay, love,
And open thy cupboard to me.