Mrs. Stein Don’t Rent To Gypsies Anymore

Mrs. Stein spends her winters in Miami,
And she lets her home to tenants while she’s gone,
And last year she rents her small home to some Gypsies,
With a discount if they’d take care of her lawn,
Oh the Gypsy King, he swore they would be careful,
They would mow her lawn and prune the roses, too,
Yes, he swore that they would be the best caretakers,
Taking care as only Gypsies seem to do,
But that rental was the ruin of her little, sweet abode,
They grazed their horses on the lawn and sold her flush commode,
And to get her fireplace going, they tore up some hardwood floor,
Mrs. Stein don’t rent to Gypsies anymore,

Mrs. Stein forgot that Gypsies come in bunches,
Like bananas on a green banana tree,
And they snuggle up to shelter, warmth and comfort,
And last year, you know, we had this early freeze,
And the word had got out fast to other Gypsies,
That the tribe of Old King Janush found a home,
There were cars from Texas, Maine and Massachussetts,
Gypsies got there from Madrid and Barcelon’,
They were sleeping in her attic, they were sleeping on the stair,
Used the basement as a bathroom, really lent the place an air,
And to keep her fireplace burning, they tore up her hardwood floor,
Mrs. Stein don’t rent to Gypsies anymore,

In her living room they opened up a Bazhour,
When the neighbors came to call they ripped them off,
Crystal balls, Tarot and Palmistry, and tea leaves,
Picking pockets of the ones who came to scoff,
Other things they did annoyed their irate neighbors,
You could hear their Gypsy violins ’til dawn,
For they dragged her Persian carpets to the garden,
And they built this raging campfire in her lawn,
There was laughing, dancing, singing, and the sound of tambourines,
And some errant neighbor’s husbands were discovered at the scene,
Where they’d helped to feed the campfire… with what looked like hardwood floor!
Mrs. Stein don’t rent to Gypsies anymore,

Then, at last, one irate neighbor called Miami,
And she told poor Mrs. Stein just how things stood,
With the Gypsy violins and raging campfires,
And “God Alone knew where the Gypsies found the wood!”,
And perhaps the Gypsies read it in the Tarot,
Or perhaps the Gypsies saw it in the stars,
But the moment that her jet plane left Miami,
They began to load her furniture in cars,
They regarded household fixtures as their private treasure trove,
They ripped off her sink and icebox, her cabinets and her stove,
And as one last Gypsy gesture, stole the last of hardwood floor…

© Tim Henderson 1978