A Mick in Israel
"A Mick in Israel" was included in a November 1932 letter to Tevis Clyde Smith, ballyhooing his Irish heritage, as Howard was fond of doing:
Old King Saul was a bold old scut;
He rammed his sword in Ashdod’s gut.
The warriors of Gaza shook in their shoes,
Their fingers twitched till they spilled their booze.
And every hussy and every john
Shook at his name in Askalon.
The warriors of Gath went after him
To hang his scalp on a hickory limb.
They went—when they came limping back
They carried their guts in a gunny-sack.
And busted noses and blackened eyes
And chewed-up ears were as thick as flies.
And before they could unbar their gates,
They felt his hobnails in their nates.
His eyes were blue as the ocean’s haze,
His hair was red as a dancing blaze.
He always drank his whiskey straight
And he had a gut that could carry the freight.
For music he had an elegant ear,
Especially after the fifteenth beer.
He’d sprawl on the throne with a stein in his mitts
And his feet propped up on a keg of Schlitz,
With a jewelled scepter beating time
To the beat of the rhythm and the rhyme,
While David on his harp would lean
Playing “The Wearin’ of the Green.
And Samuel swore by bead and bell
The kingdom was going straight to Hell.
Half the babies born in his reign
Had blue eyes and a crimson mane.
The reason Samuel didn’t enthuse—
He was making micks out of all the Jews!