Work! work! work!
Outdo your rivals all!
And work! work! work!
Beholders to appall,
His shirts galore each royster
Displays with gloating joys;
Their noise annoys an oyster
But it merely shocks our boys.
Shirt! shirt! shirt!
What wonder next appears?
Shirt! shirt! shirt!
It’s gong the whole world hears.
It comes in purple, blue and red;
Some fade; alas, some won’t;
And some are put on o’er the head,
Some button up in front.
Shirt! shirt! shirt!
We marvel at thy hue;
Shirt! shirt! shirt!
Can this wild dream come true?
O mortal folk, this riot heed,
To you is Fate unkind,
And he’s a happy man, indeed,
Who’s truly color-blind!
Oh! but for one short hour—
A respite however brief!
To lamp the sight of a shirt-front white
Would mitigate our grief.
But the grand parade goes on,
Heedless of reeling brains,
And the Cup will go to some cuss, we know,
To reward him for our pains!
Shirts! shirts! shirts!
Can man thy marvels grasp?
Shirts! shirts! shirts!
Thy grandeur makes us gasp!
The Rainbow blushes at thy sight,
The Solar Spectrum fades,
Aurora Borealis might,
Beside thee, seem as shades!
Ah, why should we Culture praise
When Art, in a reckless mood,
Outrageously flirts with a Contest of Shirts,
Refusing to be a prude?
So here is the Tale of the Shirt,
Though the shirt-tail never is seen—
For it’s tucked below the waist, you know,
While the bosom glows serene.
Shirts! shirts! shirts!
Our heads begin to swim!
Shirts! shirts! shirts!
With awe our eyes grow dim!
Silk and satin and cloth
In all their glory gleam—
Satin and cloth and silk
A medley of pigment seem.
O men, with sisters dear!
O men, with mothers and wives!
You’ve swiped the gay and gorgeous gear
They’ve cherished all their lives!
Switch! switch! switch!
Or some day, I assert,
The girls won’t dare sport underwear
To rival man’s gay shirt!
For with modesty thrown to the wind,
In hues of green and red,
On manly Uplift breast we find
A garment that should be shed—
For color belongs to a skirt.
Yet still, with a voice of dolorous pitch,
We have to admit that one has to be rich
To wear this sort of a shirt!
The Tell-Me-a-Story-Man in Supposyville
In a little white cottage set snug and deep,
In a little green wood by the castle keep
Lives a bent old man with his dogs and birds,
And a garden too wonderful—much for words.
There’s a drowsy windmill, a flock of sheep,
And a brook that sings them all to sleep
At night, and a fountain that plays and splashes—
And in its pool a magic picture flashes.
And cottage and fountain and everything
Have been built by Supposyville’s good old King
For this stranger, who’d come one stormy day
From a country unknown and far away.
And there wasn’t a task that he could do,
But oh, the wonderful things he knew!
The pirates he’d seen and the wolves and bears
And robbers and seamen from everywheres.
He knew all the fairies by name and looks
And stories that never had got in books,
And straight off the King devised this plan
For a regular “Tell-Me-a-Story Man!”
And whenever the boys and girls feel blue
In Supposyville, or have naught to do,
They skip through the woods past the castle keep
And into the little white cottage peep.
“Tell us a story!” The old man smiles
And off to the land of Afterwhiles
He takes them straightway, where fairies dwell—
There isn’t a story he cannot tell!
Of a wreck at sea or treasure ships,
Of pirate battles and vikings’ trips,
Of a Prince’s adventures, a Brownie King—
My stars! He just knows everything.
And the children listen and laugh and thrill
And love him best in Supposyville.
Now if I could, I would like to go
And hear some stories, a thousand or so!
Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.
