The Call of the Congo

I go as a rule At the coming of Yule,

To a place where the sunshine's obtrusive ;

At Hydros I'm found,

Where dyspeptics abound,

And massage and physic's inclusive ;

Or a shelter I grace In some fashion-plate place Where the giddy and frivolous throng go,

But to Fashion adieu,

If the rumour is true They're reducing the fares on the Congo.

Each English resort Will lack my support,

Nor do Cannes or Mentone intrigue me.

I see the same faces At watering places,

And the places and faces fatigue me.

But I now can afford To career like a lord To the land of the palm and the mango ;

To the Tropics I'll ship For a cheap little trip,

A week end at warm Wango-wango.

Eluding the net Of my usual set And the hump that it constantly gave me,

The lies and the smirks Of refinement that irks In the Jellala Falls I will leave me.

In a place I will stay That is called O-go-way,

I will shake by the hand the Obongo,

And with vigour renewed I shall come back imbued With the charms that are cheap on the Congo.