WHEN I RETURN (a recitation)
Words by Alex Rogers, music by Will H. Vodery, ©1918.
As recorded by Bert Williams, 1918.

They used to say you can't come back,
But now they claim it is a fact
That when you leave this earthly state,
You do a thing called transmigrate;
And then you keep on comin' back
In animal or insect shape—
Anything from an ant to an ape.
Now what do you know about that?

They say you keep on comin' back like the honeybees in hives:
One life after another till you've lived a thousand lives;
And the beauty part about it is, you just come back as you chose:
Any kind of varmint till a thousand lives are through(?).
Well, I can use a thousand; mighty handy, each in turn.
I've got so much to 'tend to, I'll be glad when I return.

The first time I come back I'll be a tiny moth; that's all;
And get even with that judge that gave me six months here last fall.
In his Persian tapestries, his silkscreens from Japan,
His heavy satin draperies he brought from Hindustan,
Visit carpets, rugs and overcoats, suits and furs in turn.
Oh, I'll be busy layin' eggs for old Judge Hall when I return.

To come back as a horse, from that I've got to shirk,
'Cause ever' kind o' horse I see, he has to do some kind o' work;
And it's hard enough to come right on back here at best,
And if I do, why, naturally, I'd like to take a little rest;
And if I've looked the situation over, there's one thing that I yearn:
To come back as one o' them pet Seekaneezes*—oh, boy! Several times I will return.


* I have spelled this phonetically. I think he means Pekingeses.