The Poems Themselves...
Why We Like 'EmThese mademoiselles of Michigan,
These Co-Eds fair and furious,
Accused of wrecking mortal man
And making Dad penurious-
They look like sweet and normal gells;
And nifty, neat, splendiferous,
Quite often are these damosels.
And if the place is populous
With sights that ease our tired eyes,
Why what's the odds- it could be worse.
And I, for one, have heaved no sighs,
Have ne'r emitted snort nor curse.
Because of feminine ornaments
That grace the long Diagonal.
I'm neurtal, in the broadest sense,
For me the Co-Eds seldom fall,
Nor run me ragged for my mon,
And handsomenss and facial view-
Nor lisp at me: "Now Honey-Bun, 'Oo like 'oo League- House Toodleoo?'
But still, I'm really quite content,
No carking sorrow can intrude-
The girls are kind and charge no rent
For eyefuls grabbed of pulchritude.
The Heighth of Optimism.
I never took a beauty prize,
Not even as a child;
I've been quite large for my youthful size
So long I'm reconciled;
My feet don't track, my mug's a crime,
My ears a sorry sight;
I'd sell my figure for a dime-
It's much more wrong than right.
But I don't care a single care,
Not a single care care I-
The girls will fall for me I 'll swear,
Like a nation going dry.
My uncle, age of thirty three, Is lousy rich, for fair-
In forty or fifty years, you see, I'll be a millionaire.