There are long trips in the trolley,
When you want to be in bed;
And there is indigestion
With the goodies that are fed;
But the worst of all the Hub Club─
If you eat, or ride, or walk─
Is when you want to talk yourself,
They'll talk, talk, talk.
And there's the “Rambling Bramblers”─
Oh the shoes I have worn out,
And the places I have been to,
That I didn't care about;
But the worst of all the Hub Club─
If you sigh, or cry, or walk─
Is when you want to talk yourself,
They'll talk, talk, talk.
And if you're of the “Boston Gang,”
New York─alack! ah─well!
Will hate you with a great big, “H,”
And with a little “l;”
But the worst of all the Hub CLub─
If you love, or hate, or walk─
Is when you want to talk yourself,
They'll talk, talk, talk.
Then there are cranky creatures,
That in the club will stray;
Sometimes their name begins with Z,
And sometimes with an A;
But the worst of all the Hub Club─
Than with cranks to ride or walk─
Is when you want to talk yourself,
They'll talk, talk, talk.
Oh the days and nights I've labored
But labored all in vain,
To get a word in edgewise,
Is a theme of poignant pain;
Yes, the worst of all the Hub Club─
Though you run, or ride, or walk─
Is when you want to talk yourself,
They'll talk, talk, talk.