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From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 214-215.


[214]

NOBODY LOVES THE DENTIST

I’m linked to grief with no relief
To misery apprenticed,
Because forsooth, I have a tooth
That calls me to the dentist.
Kinds need good milk with garden truck
And fruit to build up teeth.
They ought to brush the same in front,
In back and underneath.
But I alas, in younger days,
Refused each healthful stunt,
And when I had bad teeth behind,
I chewed my food in front.
If all my teeth went back on me,
I did not sit and squall,
But picked out soft and juicy food
And did not chew at all.
My teeth would crunch up big beef bones
With nice rich marrow freighted,
If I had sought the dentist then
And had them nickle-plated.
Alas, my milk teeth dropped to soon,
And when I got my molars,
[215] They suffered from my careless ways
And soon were aching holers.
My father should have grabbed my hair,
He should have put on blinders,
Then dragged me to the dentist’s chair
And thus preserved my grinders.
O you who have the welfare
Of kids upon your hearts,
I pray you scorn not dentists
Nor shun their useful arts.
O let them fill the baby teeth
And keep them in the gum,
To hold the little jaws in shape
Until the others come.
Behold the kids within whose mouths
Doc Jones has never pawed.
They all have bum, black snaggy teeth;
They all are wopper-jawed.






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