From the Evening Star, December 29, 1912. By Philander Johnson. They sing about the dear old farm, And of the leafy lane, And of the village school whose charm They cannot quite explain. And since they wander through the map While touching strains are sung, I’ll carol of the street car strap, Where I have often hung! How I swayed with courage stout, Like some banner tossed about! I almost learned to take a little nap. With a cultivated twist Of the muscles of my wrist, I have dangled daily from the street car strap! We strive to view the roof o’erhead With an expression sweet. We say “Beg pardon!” as we tread On one another’s feet. How proudly shines the polished place Round which our hands we wrap, As in suspension there we grace The dear old street car strap! How it helped to keep my nerve As we went around the curve And almost fell into somebody’s lap. I enjoy my only chance At a modern ragtime dance As I hang upon that dear old street car strap.
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