WEBFOOT IN THE LEAD by WILLIAM STEWARD GORDON

Well, I've been to see the capers
That they're cuttin' at the fair,
And you bet there's somethin' doing
And old Webfoot's gettin' there.

Why, I'd come to the conclusion
That we'd kind o' gone to seed,
And the other big exhibits
Would be trottin' in the lead.

But you'd ought to see them fellers
From the dried-up eastern slopes—
Why, they call our cherries peaches,
And our peaches cantaloupes!

And we have a little saplin',
For to hold the flag, you see,
And they nearly break their necks
Just a-lookin' up the tree.

And a feller lost his manners
When he "watched Tacoma grow"—
But a slab that we're a-showin'
Did some growin' long ago.

And there was Homer makin' pictures,
And Miller makin' rhymes,
(And a lot of other fellers
That were there to make the dimes).

And I said, "Trot out your talent
With a pencil or a pen!"
And it seemed to me that Webfoot
Was a-gettin' there again.

And talk about "Kentucky beauties"
And "The lilies of the South"—
Why, beside our Mossback maidens
They're like roses in a drought!

And I saw some soldiers drillin'
With an "M" upon their caps,
And I heard the people sayin'
"Them's a husky lot o' chaps!"

And when a Webfoot hits "the trail"
With his knapsack on his back,
Why, it's hard to find the feller
That can make a bigger track.

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