From The Topeka State Journal, February 23, 1914. By Roy K. Moulton.
Of all the fossels in our town,
Si Haskins was the boss.
He said the autymobile never
Would replace the hoss.
He always used to sneer and snort
Whenever one went by,
And when he’d see one busted down,
He’d laugh until he’d cry.
He said the owners all were fools
To go and spend their dough
For them gol ding contrivances
That never seemed to go.
Them devil wagons got his goat,
He’d never fall for one.
Of all the gol-dum foolishness,
Gas wagons took the bun.
One day a nephew died and left
An old one-lung machine
A-standing out in old Si’s barn.
Si got some gasoline
And poured it in the gosh durned thing
To see if it would start.
He cranked her up and thought he’d try
To drive the old gas cart.
He drove it down the road all right,
Forgettin’ all his care,
And rode around till almost night
And visited everywhere.
Next morning bright and early he
Was poundin’ down the street.
He scared the hosses right and left
And knocked folks off their feet.
A week from then he bought a car.
It was of high hoss power.
He didn’t take time off to eat,
But drove it every hour.
He raced with everybody who
Showed up within a mile
He said you might as well be dead
As not to be in style.
His whiskers blew out in the breeze,
As down the road he flew.
He said: “I’ll show those gol ding boobs
A fancy trick or tew.”
He spent all of his waking hours
In showing them new tricks.
Four cylinders became too tame,
And so he bought a six.
He’s been arrested nineteen times
For speedin’, so they say.
He got his whiskers all shaved off,
For they got in his way.
He talks of touring cars all day
And dreams of them at night,
And nowadays whene’er he sees
A piece of horseflesh pass
He sort of chuckles, sneering like,
And hollers out: “No class.”
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