By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Lost Princess of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.
Originally published in Louis F. Baum’s Popular Songs as Sung with Immense Success in His Great 5 Act Irish Drama Maid of Arran, 1882.
It’s a basket of rubbish from Arran I’ve brought,
As a gift to our darling Colleen.
It would be a reminder of home-life, I thought,
And it’s no place beside it is seen.
Sure ye live in a city of wonders, I know,
In the land of the English, the mist and the fog.
But here’s a wee treasure all England can’t show,
It’s a bit of the old Irish sod.
Sure ye live in a city of wonders, I know,
In the land of the mist and the fog,
But I’ve brought ye a present all England can’t show,
It’s a tuft of the old Irish bog.
Sure your new London home is a palace so grand,
And you in your silks are its queen.
But you’ve not yet forgotten your dear native land,
And you’re still our old Shiela, I ween.
Then welcome these mosses from Arran so green,
And a bunch of dried seaweed I found on the shore.
The loveliest bunch of our wildflow’rs ere seen,
They’re a gift to our Shiela, galore.
Sure ye live in a city of wonders, I know,
Many grand sights have ye seen,
But here are some gems that all England can’t show,
All the way from old Arran so green.
And mellow gold the pears,
And all the earth its autumn robe
Of deepening crimson wears;
And on this morning that I’m just
About to tell you of;
Yes, on this bright September day,
My dear, my duck, my love,
Down every lane and road and street
The good Supposies scurry;
Now what, I wonder, brings them out
In such a jolly hurry!
Why some are wheeling pumpkins huge,
And some are driving geese;
And chickens crow, and cattle low,
And still the crowds increase;
Some clatter by in carriages
With vegetables and tarts,
Preserves and quilts and dear knows what,
Piled high in all the carts.
Well, pshaw, if you’ve not guessed it,
I’d better tell you where
They’re going helter-skelter—
To the Grand Supposy Fair!
And if you add to all the fairs
You’ve been to, twenty-three,
You’ll just about know what one
Grand Supposy Fair can be;
Free rides for all the boys and girls
Upon the donkeys, prizes
For every one; and as for fun,
’Tis there in fifty guises;
Lemonade and popcorn,
Ice cream and dancing bears,
And all the forty ’leven things
They have at country fairs;
But most exciting is the horse race—
Who’ll win the bag of gold?
The Queen in viewing all the steeds
Discovers there an old
Decrepit horse belonging
To an old decrepit man;
And right into her pretty head there pops
A cheerful plan;
The jockeys, anxious to be off,
Await the signal gun;
Imagine the astonishment of
Every single one,
When up upon the old lame horse
The Queen springs at the minute
The signal sounds. Aha! Aho!
Of course she’ll have to win it;
Because ’tis royal etiquette
None shall precede the Queen;
And gravely after her they trot
Till thrice around the green;
And every one is chuckling at the joke
As they come in.
The old man scarce believes his ears
When all cry out, “You win!”
And that is just one sample
Of the merry way things go
In old Supposyville. It is
The finest place I know.
