I’m darned if I’m contented
With the tables they’ve invented–
Oh some, of course, are beauties,
But they’re shirking in their duties
When there is no room beneath ’em for MY FEET.
Though my Elevens may be prizes,
Feet come in assorted sizes;
And I claim a decent table
Should be willing, yea, and able
To accomodate my tootsies WHILE I EAT.
In the store we drool, and love ’em
For the ample room above ’em;
But you’ll find they’re cramped below ’em
When you get one of ’em hoem,
If you sit, and try to swallow bread and meat.
Now the moral of my story:
If you’d cover you with glory,
Lift the ordinary table
From the mire–
Build it bigger, build a master,
Build it wider, build it vaster;
Even though you build it gloomier,
Build it healthy build it roomier–
So us guys (with feet) to food can get us nigher!
–P.S.–
As a guy in 1-A, though I’m glad I’m around
Using ANY OLD TABLE instead of the GROUND!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, March 28, 1944
