SONGS OF FOOD PRODUCTION.
IV.
The Farmer's Boy (New Style).
The Hun was set on making us fret
For lack of food to eat,
When up there ran a City man
In gaiters trim and neat—
Oh, just tell me if a farm there be
Where I can get employ,
To plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O,
And he a farmer's boy,
And be a farmer's boy.
"In khaki dight my juniors fight—
I wish that I could too;
But since the land's in need of hands
There's work for me to do;
Though you call me a 'swell,' I would labour well—
I'm aware it's not pure joy—
To plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O
And be a farmer's boy,
And be a farmer's boy."
The farmer quoth, "I be mortal loth,
But the farm 'tis goin' back,
And I do declare as I can't a-bear
Any farming hands to lack;
So if you've got grit and be middlin' fit
An'll larn to cry, 'Ut hoy!'
And to plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O,
You shall be a farmer's boy,
You shall be a farmer's boy."
Bold farmers all, obey the call
Of townsfolk game and gay!
And you City men put by the pen
And hear me what I say:—
Get straight enrolled with a farmer bold,
And the Hun you'll straight annoy,
If you plough and sow for PROTH-ER-O
And be a farmer's boy,
And be a farmer's boy.
The Sex-Problem Again.
"FOR SALE.—A 3-year-old Holstein gentleman cow."—Canadian Paper.
"A Liverpool master carter told the Tribunal that the last 'substitute' sent him for one of his men backed a horse down a tip and landed him in an expense of £50."—Yorkshire Evening Post.
Many men have lost more by backing a horse on a tip.
A Bare Outlook.
"THINGS YOU HAVE GOT TO DO WITHOUT.
CLOTHES AND FOOD."—Daily Sketch.
This seems to bring the War even closer than the PREMIER intended.