Not for me the profiteer's

Lucky hauls,

But a prospect of lean years

That appals;

Yet, although I dimly grope

On an ever downward slope,

I espy one gleam of hope—

Overalls.

When the experts prophesy

Further squalls,

And my income, never high,

Falls and falls,

Then the twenty-guinea suit

Is to me forbidden fruit,

But I cordially salute

Overalls.

Not to mention other woes,

Other calls,

Paying tailors through the nose

Greatly galls;

So farewell, expensive tweeds,

Though my manly bosom bleeds,

For the situation needs

Overalls.