This is the slacker, all shaven and shorn, who drives a car with a tooting horn, and laughs at the farmer weary and worn, and his wife at work in the early morn, hoeing potatoes and beets and corn, because the son, who to them was born, is in front of the battle, all tattered and torn, still manning the gun that killed the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built. This is the maid who treats with scorn the shifty slacker, all shaven and shorn, and his shining car with the tooting horn, but honors the farmer weary and worn, and his wife who helps him hoe the corn, and milk the cows in the early morn, for she loves the son who to them was born, who in front of the battle all tattered and torn, still mans the gun that killed the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built! =Nursery Rhymes= =Up-to-Date= TEN LITTLE SLACKERS Ten little slackers standing in a line, One went to U. S., then there were nine. Nine little slackers out for a skate, One broke his leg and then there were eight. Eight little slackers playing odd and even, Got in a mix up and then there were seven. Seven little slackers sucking sugar sticks, One got dyspepsia, then there were six. Six little slackers only half alive, One got married and then there were five. Five little slackers were such a bore The fool killer got one, then there were four. Four little slackers out on a spree, Auto turned turtle, and then there were three. Three little slackers in a canoe, Simpleton rocked the boat, then there were two. Two little slackers, one was a Hun, He got imprisoned, then there was one. One little slacker, war nearly won, He got conscripted, then there were none. One little, two little, three little slackers, Four little, five little, six little slackers, Seven little, eight little, nine little slackers, Ten little slacker men. * * * * * Jack Sprat can eat no fat, His wife can eat no lean, Because upon their platter now No meat is ever seen. Make a cake, make a cake, my good man, Make it of treacle and cornmeal and bran, Tick it and pick it and mark it with B, And eat it for breakfast and dinner and tea. Little deeds and mortgages, Little bonds and stocks, Help amid financial storms To keep us off the rocks. Little loads of stove wood, Little jags of coal, Make our pocket books look sick, And put us in the hole. Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, Eating his whole wheat pie, He looked pretty glum for he found not a plum, And he said, I don't like this old pie. Little Tommy Tucker sang for his supper, What did he sing for? White bread and butter; But he had to take corn-cake instead of white bread, With oleomargarine on it to spread.