MOTHER GOOSE
IN
GRIDIRON RHYME

A Collection of
Alphabets, Rhymes, Tales and Jingles
WITH 80 ILLUSTRATIONS

DECEMBER DINNER OF
The Gridiron Club
WASHINGTON, D. C.
DECEMBER 9, 1911

The Gridiron Press
W. F. ROBERTS COMPANY, Manager

VICTIMS

This is the house that Jack

(ought to have) Built.

Beat ’em up, beat ’em up, progressive man,

So we will, Bobby, as fast as we can;

We’ll beat ’em and kick ’em and mark ’em N. G.,

Yours truly, T. R., Jimmie G. and Giff P.

A Is for Aldrich, of fame and renown,

Whose tariff bill still is the talk of the town.

B Is for Bourne, of third term repute,

Now with the Taft boom engaged in dispute.

C Is for Cannon, or Clark, as you please,

Czars before whom all fall on their knees.

D Is for Davis, of Ozark, b’gum,

Who has just been “bridled” and now stays t’hum.

E Is for Ebenezer, with billiard ball head,

If t’were not white t’would probably be red.

F Is for Fisher, President Taft’s “hope;”

Giff is now handing out only soft soap.

G Is for Gardner, his daddy’s named Lodge;

Mention it to Gus, and Gussie will dodge.

H Is for Hitchcock, or Hilles, both good

To run a campaign, if either one would.

I Is for Isaac, a Biblical name;

“Ask and ye shall receive”—He knows that game.

J Is for Jimmie, guess it, if you can;

You will find he is somewhat of a Mann.

K Is for Knox, not knocking, you know,

Whose dollar diplomacy is now all the go.

L Is for La Follette, a whirlwind for talk,

Whose Presidential boom Taft hopes to balk.

M Is for MacVeagh or Meyer, men of means;

One represents pork and the other baked beans.

N Is for Nagel, from St. Louis town,

A Cabineteer who aspires to a gown.

O Is for Owen, Sir Robert, the bold,

Whose “Isms” made Bailey’s extremities cold.

P Is for Pinchot, a chip off the block;

He’s equally good at the boost or the knock.

Q Is for Quillen, alias John Tilson.

Pabst? Schlitz? Anheuser? We have it! Pilsen.

R Is for Root, not the root of all evil,

To whom the term uplift does not mean upheaval.

S Is for Sherman, or Stimson. Help! Help!

Which one will Taft take unto himself?

T Is for Taft, or Tariff so high

“Which must be revised” (in the sweet bye and bye).

U Is for Underwood, of stately mien. Oh!

His tariff speeches give a pain to Sereno.

V Is from Vreeland. Standpatter? You bet!

On tariff and bobtails he’s standing still yet.

W Is for Wickersham, Wiley and Wilson,

An adulteration Taft can’t keep still, son.

“X” Is for those who from public life sever;

They come and go, We go on forever.

Y Is for “Yes,” the blushing maid’s answer;

Candidates always say “Yes” if they can, sir.

Z Is for Zoo, a part of the show;

The big show now here is Congress, you know.

As Bill Heyburn and Bill Borah

Were walking out one Sunday,

Says Bill Heyburn to Bill Borah,

“Tomorrow will be Monday.”

Little Charlie Hilles, first aide to Will, is

Eating some White House pie;

If he puts in his thumb and pulls out this plum,

There is nobody here who will cry.

1. This little pig went to the market.

2. This little pig stayed at home.

3. This little pig had roast beef.

4. This little pig got none.

5. This little pig cried wee, wee, all the way home.

“Robert, come give me your fiddle,

If ever you mean to thrive.”

“Nay, I’ll not give my fiddle

To any man alive.

If I should give my fiddle,

They’ll think that I’ve gone mad,

For many a joyful day

My fiddle and I have had.”

There was a busy man who lived on a hill,

He lives there yet, but not always still.

On Tennessee Iron he says he was “wise,”

And he’s the ONE man who never tells lies.

Billy Lorimer picked a peck

Of Hines’ splinters;

A peck of Hines’ splinters

Billy Lorimer picked.

If Billy Lorimer picked a peck

Of Hines’ splinters,

Where’s the peck of Hines’ splinters

Uncle Isaac picked?

OLD MOTHER HUBBARD
(Or the Horrible Tale of Mrs. Ultimately Consumed)

Old Mother Hubbard

Went to the cupboard

To get her poor children a bone;

But when she came there

The cupboard was bare,

It was plain the shelves held none.

She went to the baker’s

To buy them some bread,

But wheat had gone up,

Reciprocity was dead.

She went to the joiner’s

A coffin to buy,

But she found that cremation

Was not half so high.

She took a clean dish

To buy them some trout,

But the price was so “fishy”

She came away without.

She went to the ale-house

To buy them some beer,

But the cost of the drink

Took away all the cheer.

She went to the tavern

For white wine and red,

But when she had priced it,

She took water, instead.

She went to the hatter’s

To buy them a hat,

But the things that were swell

Made her pocket-book flat.

She went to the barber’s

With wigs to display,

She found nothing there

But a high price “toupee.”

She went to the fruiterer’s

To buy them some fruit,

But the figures had taken

The aerial route.

She went to the tailor’s

To buy them a coat,

The tailor convinced her

That she was the “goat.”

She went to the cobbler’s

To buy them some shoes,

It was plain she must give

To the tariff its dues.

She went to the sempstress

To buy them some linen,

The cost plainly showed her

She was in for a skinnin’.

She went to the hosier’s

To buy them some hose,

He took what was left,

Increasing her woes.

The Dame made a curtsey,

The Trusts made a bow;

The Dame said, “Your servant.”

The Trusts said “Kow-tow.”

Then Old Mother Hubbard

Went back to the cupboard

Where she had sought for a bone;

And she said, “I declare,

It will have to stay bare,”

So the poor little children got none.

Little Simon met a Sly Man

Going to Alaska;

Says Little Simon to the Sly Man,

“What is there, I ask you?”

Says the Sly Man to Little Simon,

“There’s copper there in plenty.”

Says Little Simon to the Sly Man,

“Of coppers I have many.”

Little Simon had six brothers

Who saw what there was in it;

They sent the Sly Man to Alaska—

Little Simon to the Senate.

Little G. P.

Went to sea,

In an open boat;

The little boat bended—

My story’s ended.

There was a fat man from St. Lou-ay,

Sat trust-busting one sunshiny day;

For the press he had naught,

Though steel was his thought,

Which vex’d the fat man from St. Lou-ay.

A dillar, a dollar

A 12 o’clock scholar,

We like the Senate’s gall;

It’s coming now at 2 o’clock—

Why does it come at all?

Jimmie Lloyd, a Congressman,

Came back to Washington

On Democratic victory feeling vain;

He stepped in a patronage muddle,

Like a Missouri toll-road puddle,

And he swears he’ll ne’er do that again.

Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any pull?

The Tariff Board is after the rates on Wool:

Yes, we have stand-patters and the A. P. T. L.,

While presidential vetoes are doing very well.