From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 218-219.
A SHIRTSLEEVE SONG
By those who rules of conduct quote,
I’m told a man must keep his coat,
Even though the hotness get his goat.
O, when the sun pours torrid heats
Upon the houses and the streets
And when the women, lovely dears,
Are keeping cool except their ears,
With nice silk stockings on each frame,
And other clothes I may not name,
With little waist and still less skirt,
Why should I fear to show my shirt?
When summer simmers hot as Hades,
Let’s take a tip from those wise ladies.
O on the farm where I was born,
We took no thought for custom’s scorn,
And when we found our bodies wet
With perspiration or with sweat,
I will confess, e’en though it hurts,
We peeled right down to undershirts.
Yea, when we saw the heat waves dance,
We often longed to shuck our pants.
With no one but ourselves to please,
We should have worked in B. V .D.’s
[219]
And still, when things grow hot as Tophet,
I’m bound to grab my coat and doff it.
My old blue shirt is clean and neat,
My stout suspenders can’t be beat.
With half my buttons in their places,
Why should I wish to hide my braces?
When northern zones have tropic heats,
When Sol unclouded on us beats,
That outer garment, I shall dump it,
If folks don’t like it they can lump it.