We’ve heard many tales of acquiring pelf,

By inheriting millions, by making of self,

Buying scrap iron, old copper and rags,

Stealing registered mail from Post Office bags,

Raising cotton and grain and butter and cheese,

By sawing lumber from stately pine trees,

By stealing jewels from wealthy old dames,

By playing poker or other card games,

Holding up “Pay Rolls” and forging bank checks

And snatching bright pearls from rich ladies’ necks,

By robbing the miser and burning his home,

By pilfering “gas” from the old “Teapot Dome”,

By becoming elected U. S. senators,

Making weapons for future great wars,

By blowing up banks for large stacks of coin,

Or any such pelf that they choose to purloin,

These are a few ways of acquiring wealth,

Some are by fair means and others by stealth.

But it grew up like a mushroom, continues

But one of our neighbors invented a trick

For raking in shekels and getting rich quick.

He didn’t make moonshine, he didn’t purloin,

He found a new method of obtaining the coin.

This neighbor, whose cognomen we will omit

Had not much wealth but plenty of wit.

He dwelt alongside a public highway,

Where hundreds of autos passed by every day.

A gurgling brook, near his place of abode,

Sang songs for the tourists, who passed on

the road. A mud hole, whose bottom was red, sticky clay,

Stood near the center of the auto highway.

Each auto that passed, would stick in the mud

And come to a halt with a thump and a thud.

This neighbor, who dwelt alongside of the stream

Possessed an old wagon and ancient horse team.

With his “Dobbins”, he carted a water supply,

To keep this old mud hole from getting too dry.

He’d labor all night by the light of the stars,

To keep the old mud hole in needed repairs.

But for what reason, perhaps you ask,

Should he assign himself to such a task.

Because this mud hole, or rather a slough

Was the chief source of this man’s revenue.

The mud hole is kept in constant repair,

And made a good trap for a joyriding car.

Whenever a tourist appeared on the scene,

He’d surely plunk in where others had been.

Our hero would sit on the top of the stile,

The tourist would utter “cuss words“ for awhile.

Then our hero would gently slide down from his perch,

As long-faced as though he were going to church.

He’d say, “my dear man, it makes me feel sad,

To see that your auto is in so bad,

I wish to tender some wholesome advice,

And we’ll have your auto all right in a trice.

Just hitch this chain to your old lizzie’s snout,

I and the dobbins will soon have you out.

You’ll find me one of the best-hearted men,

For this valued service, I’ll tax you a ten.”

Of course the tourist was willing to pay

For such a prospect of getting away.

He’d pull out his wallet, fork over a ten

And soon would be on “Terra Firma” again.

While he is speeding along the main road,

Our hero returns to his place of abode.

Of water, he must have a further supply,

To keep the old mud hole from getting too dry.

Thus, hour after hour and day after day,

He makes them “cough up” on the public highway

If this mud hole or slough is kept in repair

It will soon make our hero a famed millionaire.

We give him great credit for his yankee wit,

Long may he prosper by his “cheek and grit”,

He can make more “chink”, by staying at home

Than filching crude oil from the old “Teapot Dome”.