The Great Milk Battle

We wish they’d win

     The milk strike war

And not be

     A so-called draw.

Each soldier thinks

     He’s won the scrap;

While we, by jinks,

     Lose all our pap.

The cows are all

     Disgusted quite

And stand and bawl

     From morn till night.

The milkmaids they

     Are worried too;

And even say

     The milk is blue.

If they don’t get

     A move on soon

We’ll change, you bet,

     Our silvery tune.

We’ll buy a cow

     Or two, alas!

And they, I swow,

     Can go to grass!

Aug. 19, 1910

Sunday, Aug. 21, ‘10