POST SUMMER

The green leaves are all dying to brown, the skies are gray,

The summer has passed, and for those fine times we will pay,

In this technical fall,

Early winter will call,

Now great oar faring ships, are winter parked in the bay.

THE SKINLESS IMPORTER OF TIN

I think my million dollar ship has come in,

It is full of foreign, imported, sheet tin,

I use to import lab mice,

But they gave me bad lice,

I itched so bad, soon I scratched off all my skin.