The Youthful Banker Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

When I was young I had a bank

A tin one, painted blue ;
The chimney, it was red ; the roof

Was fastened on with glue ;
It had a slit, where daddy made

Me dropp my pennies through.

My dad intended that my wealth
Would go, with other wads,

To keep the blacks from taking stock
In mud and basswood gods

(I thought that missionaries were
The most substantial frauds).

But on the sly I 'd raise the roof,

In spite of warnings stern,
And, if I took a penny out,

I bust the whole concern ;
'T was very wrong, I know ; but, then,

I did n't give a dern !

And when my mother found it out
(She 'd find it out, of course)

She 'd gently lay me 'cross her knee,
With concentrated force,

While she revenged the heathen's cause-
You bet I felt remorse !

Now, gentle reader, as you read,

I Ve just perceived you grin :
Perhaps you also had a bank

A blue one, made of tin ;
If so, like me, could you take out

More cash than you put in?