From the pages of [...]

An occasional series. So far at least, all the books from whose pages I am quoting are ones I have around the house, but if the one I'm quoting has already been scanned and put on the web, I use that.

Volume 4, The Middle West, of the Official Automobile Year Book of the American Automobile Association, featuring Touring Information for Year 1916.

        SONG OF THE TIMES

       BY CHAS. A. PENNELL.

             All Rights Reserved

My Tuesdays are all Meatless,                                                                                                My Wednesdays are all Wheatless,                                                                                         My Mouth it is more Eatless every day.                                                                                   My Sunday Girl is Flirtless,                                                                                                        My handsome form is Shirtless,                                                                                               And I am feeling mighty tough today.

My Mondays are all Workless,                                                                                             And the sausage it is Porkless,                                                                                              But my waiter does not care for what I say.                                                                             I can grumble, I can mutter,                                                                                                       I eat axel grease for butter,                                                                                                      But am charged for nice fresh dairy when I pay.

My house and home are Heatless,                                                                                        But my money is not Fleetless,                                                                                                  It makes me dizzy when I hear it hum.                                                                                  My fuel bin is Coalless,                                                                                                          And the dealer he is Soulless,                                                                                               And my finances are getting on the Bum.

The Cafes are all Treatless,                                                                                                   And my Coffee is all Sweetless,                                                                                           And where I sleep tonight I cannot tell.                                                                               My stockings are all Feetless,                                                                                               And my Pantaloons are Seatless,                                                                                       Gen’l Sherman he was right: for war is Hell.

*This verse was printed† on a card serving as a bookmark in the book; “1918” is written in pencil on front and back.

†In a union shop; unfortunately the union bug is far too small for me to read the detailed text.