by Graham Forsdyke ( Written for the 'Newhome' sewing machine company in 1886 ) The shades of night were falling fast, As through Chicago streets there passed A spanking rig, at lightening gait -- Two sewing machines comprised the freight -- New Home. Along the wagon's sides, so gay, In golden letters, as bright as day, Shone out that old familiar name -- The dealers' guide to wealth and fame -- New Home. Behind this wagon, spick and span A lightening-running greyhound ran; With gracious head and slender shanks, And lettered plainly on its flanks, New Home. Oh come, New Home, a maiden cried And linger easy at my side The driver winked and threw a kiss Some other day I will, dear miss. New Home. Beware an old man yelled, beware! Of t'other wagons have a care; Go gently, or you'll get upset, A voice replied, "Well I guess not", New Home. What's this, a bulldog barked so bold; A handsome hound, I'll have him culled The simple hound proved strong as fleet, And chewed him into sausage meat New Home. Silent, their course was onward sped; The road was quickly cleared ahead. And growling drivers gave the pass, Whilst muttering low in smothered wrath: New Home. Some time before the sun went down, The New Home man drove back down town And gaily sang "I've made a mash And sold my two machines for cash"! Hurrah-- New Home.
The end