Anatole of Paris

It all began when I was born a month too soon

My ma was frightened by a runaway saloon

Pa was forced to be a hobo

Because he played the oboe

And the oboe, it is clearly understood

Is an ill wind that no one blows good

I'll never forget the morning

That Grandpa ate the awning

To impress a pretty lady

Who went for men that were shady

Then my uncle Josia lit the Chicago fire

Ran off to Hawaii with the O'Leary cow

Which his loving wife resented

And there upon invented

A rolling pin that strikes and then says pow

And I'm the result of the twisted eugenics

Of this family of inbred schizophrenics

The end of a long long line of bats

I design women's hats

I'm Anatole of Paris

I shriek with chic, my hat of the week

'Cause 6 divorces, 3 runaway horses

I'm Anatole of Paris

The hats I sell make husbands yell

"Is that a hat or a two room flat?"

Let me get my paw

On a little piece of straw and viola

A chapeau, at 60 bucks a throw

It's how I pull and chew on it

The little things I do on it

Like placing yards of lacing

Or a bicycle built for two on it

The little ones, the big ones

The sat on by a pig ones

The foolish ones that perch

And the ghoulish ones that lurch

The one called whiskey sour

Designed for the cocktail hour

A little snip, a potato chip

And a trifle off the Eiffel Tower

I'm Anatole of Paris, I must design

I'm just like wine, I go to your head

Give me thread and the needle

I itch, I twitch to stitch

I'm a glutton for cutting

For putting with a button

To snip and pluck, nip and tuck

Fix and trim, plan the brim

Tote that barge, lift that bail

And why do I sew each new chapeau

With a style they most look positively grim in