Abdul Abulbul Amir

The sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold
And quite unaccustomed to fear.
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Tsar.
And the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun,
And donned his most truculent sneer.
Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

"Young man," quoth Abdul,"Has life grown so dull,
That you wish to end your career?
Vile infidel, know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."

Said Ivan, "My friend, your remarks, in the end,
Will avail you but little, I fear."
"For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive.
Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir."

"So take your last look at sunshine and brook.
And send your regrets to the Tsar.
For by this I imply, you are going to die
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar."

Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk.
With a cry of, "Allah-Akbar!"
And with murderous intent, he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

They fought all that night, 'neath the pale yellow moon.
The din, it was heard from afar.
And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,
Of Abdul and Ivan Skavar.

As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life —
in fact he was shouting "Huzzah!"
He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

The Sultan drove by in his red-crested fly,
Expecting the victor to cheer.
But he only drew nigh, to hear the last sigh,
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Tsar Petrovich too, in his spectacles blue,
Rode up in his new crested car.
He arrived just in time to exchange a last line,
With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

There's a tomb rises up, where the blue Danube flows,
Engraved there in characters clear:
"Ah, stranger when passing, oh pray for the soul
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."

A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps
'Neath the light of the pale polar star
And the name that she murmurs so oft as she weeps,
Is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

By the sea of Sargossa I wandered one night
The moon it was shining quite clear
For no reason at all I heard someone call
For Abdul Abulbul Amir

Now Abdul Abulbul I knew to be dead
The story had spread near and far
How he lost his life while plunging his knife
Into Ivan Skavinsky Skavar

While I pondered the moonbeams descended quite low
Casting shadows suffusely, and then
I discovered that I was standing close by
The tombs of those two famous men

Then in the tombs shadows there rose from a grave
The form of a Russian Hussar
And my skin nearly peeled, as he stood there revealed
It was Ivan Skavinsky Skavar

'Twas he who was calling, I hardly dared breathe
My heart 'most stopped beating from fear
When out of a grave, in need of a shave
Arose Abdul Abulbul Amir

"Well, wouldst speak with me Ivan?", quoth Abdul quite low
"I wouldst", replied Ivan quite clear
"That quarrel we had, 'twas all to the bad
Friend Abdul Abulbul Amir"

"I've lain here for ages with that on my mind
And that's why I called you tonight"
"Well, I'm in the same state", quoth Abdul the great
"Twas foolish for we two to fight"

"Oh friend, thou art blameless", cried Ivan in haste
"The fault lies in my hands alone"
But Abdul said "Nay, 'twas never that way
The fault was no one's but mine own"

"Well, dost think I'm a coward?", quoth Ivan Skavar
"Step forth and I'll slice off thine ear"
"Oh, son of a cat, you'll never do that"
Quoth Abdul Abulbul Amir

So once more they battled and fought as before
The multitudes came from afar
And lauded with cheers these bold buccaneers
This Turk, and this Russian Hussar

The ghost of the Czar on a fiery black steed
Came rushing to witness the fray
While the Sultan sat there in his royal gold chair
It was just like a scene from a play

'Twas just at that moment each sword found its mark
And I heard a blood-curdling scream
I opened my eyes and to my surprise
I found it was only a dream

On the links by the Bosporus near ancient Stamboul
O'er the fairways with nothing to fear
Went the greatest of pros with the driver-like nose
Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir.

One day to the clubhouse there came a strange man
From a land that was distant and far
And his visiting card bore the name of this bard:
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

Said the Count to Abdul, "Our grandfathers fought"
At that moment his face wore a sneer.
"Well, I don't know the cause but my granddad c'd whip yours!"
Said Abdul Abulbul Amir.

"Oh you think you're a golfer, Mr. Abdul Amir?
You think you're a promising star?
Well, if you play at this sport like your grandfather fought
Lord help you!" said Ivan Skavar.

"Oh you're no Bobby Jones or no Frankie Ouimet
Why, you hold your midiron like a spear.
You're a count without doubt but just count yourself out
In golfing," said Abdul Amir.

They were matched now, you know, for an eighteen-holed go
The prize was a gold samovar
As they strode to the tee, they were wondrous to see
Mr. Abdul and Ivan Skavar.

They were evenly matched, you could tell by their shots
They made the first ten holes in par
He lived up to his name in this breathtaking game
Did Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

And on the fifteenth hole Ivan a bunker he struck
He was stroking his way to the clear.
"How many strokes did you take; were you killing a snake?"
Yelled Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Ivan tried a wee chip, then he felt something slip
"My braces have parted, I fear!"
To the sand-trap he flew while they roared at the view
Even Abdul Abulbul Amir.

And so much did he laugh that he doubled in half
In undoubling himself, the poor seer
Alas and alack, he strained his poor back
Did Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Oh the boys never ended that classical match
For neither could finish their score
So they just called the game—we can't tell you the name
But the referee called it a draw.

Oh the bunkers that lie in the fairways of life
Cause many a heartache and tear
And this old family feud shall oft be renewed
By the grandsons of Abdul Amir.