My Hobby Shel Silverstein

When you spit from the twenty-sixth floor
And it floats on the breeze to the ground
Does it fall upon hats or on white Persian cats
Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?

I used to think life was a bore
But I don't feel that way anymore
As I count up the hits, as I smile as I sit
As I spit from the twenty-sixth floor