OLEOMARGARINE.
Through the busy bustling street,
Rolls a cart I often meet,
The driver shouting from the seat:
“Oleomargarine!”
On the tail-board long and wide,
Reaching fair from side to side,
Shines the word in painted pride:
“Oleomargarine!”
What it is doth not appear,
Where it comes from all may fear,
Still I shudder when I hear:
“Oleomargarine!”
Here and there he slowly crawls,
Pausing by the butcher stalls,
In the kitchen door he bawls:
“Oleomargarine!”
Bring your tallow, bring your fat,
Candle ends and all like that,
They will issue from the vat
Oleomargarine.
Any scraps you have about,
Kidney, liver, tripe, or snout,
All will make, when they’re tried out,
Oleomargarine.
Comes the cry across the way,
From a dame with rent to pay:
“Do you purchase puppies? say,
Oleomargarine!”
“Is he fat?” the driver cries;
“I should say so,” she replies;
“Then pitch him in where pussy lies.”
Oleomargarine!
In the church, or at the play,
In the parlor, night or day,
Still the voices seem to say:
“Oleomargarine!”
From the birds that round me fly,
In the brook that babbles by,
Still I seem to catch the cry:
“Oleomargarine!”
With suspicion now I spread
The cow’s rich offering on my bread
That weird butter still I dread,—
Oleomargarine!
Dainties now I must forego,
Pies and cakes and puddings, Oh!
Can I trust them? no! no!! no!!!
Oleomargarine!