Arthur Rodman’s “Jingles” Booklet-Pages 41-42

          LADIES’ NIGHT-Cont.

Without your charm and grace and wit
This mundane sphere would not be fit
          For man’s abode.
Without your power, help and love
Our tenderest thoughts, those from above,
          Would soon corrode.

Without your wisdom man would be
Like a ship that’s wrecked upon the sea;
Without a rudder or a sail,
His highest aims would ever fail.

Without you what would poor man do?
His life would be a bugaboo.
Who’d fry his steak and make his hash?
And who would spend his ready cash?

Who’d lock the doors and wind the clocks?
And who would mend his holeproof sox?
Who’d get the children off to school?
And how’d they learn the Golden Rule?

Who’d wash and scrub and dust and bake?
Who’d nurse poor Tommy’s stomach ache?
Who’d nurse us when we’re sick a-bed?
Who’d come and soothe our aching head?

They say the heart of a woman is flint,
And that of a man is steel.
When they come together what a glorious
        spark!
And the joy of living they feel.

There was a man in our town,
And he was wondrous wise.
He married a woman not half as smart,
But she opened both of his eyes.

He said that a man and his wife make 10,
And, of course, the 1 was he,
But he learned before long
That he was fearfully wrong,
For only the zero was he.

          LADIES’ NIGHT-Cont.

You’re getting your place
In the rush of the race,
And I’m playing the ladies to win.
You’re setting a pace,
And you’re running with grace,
Altho you were slow to begin.

So here’s to the Ladies, to one and to all,
The Blondes and Brunettes and the great and
    the small;
Here’s to your health and long may you live,
For always it’s joy to mankind you will give.

    THE BABY SISTER

I’ve dot a ittle baby sister;
She’s des about so big.
She’s dot the mostest blackest hair–
I fink she’s dot a wig.

The Doctor says I musn’t touch
The tiny baby’s eye,
An’ Mamma says I must keep still,
An’ not make baby cwy.

They’ve dot a basket all fixed up
To make the baby’s bed.
The tover’s all piled up so high
‘At I tan’t see her head.

Her ittle face is pitty wed,
But then she’s awful sweet.
Her ittle hannies are so cute–
Say, Mamma, where’s her feet?

I wish she’d wake up pitty soon;
She must be hungry now.
The nurse says Mamma dives her milk,
I don’t see zackly how.

Is that the way the baby eats?
A funny thing to do.
Ol’ Blackey’s kitties eat that way–
I fink it’s cute, don’t you?

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