From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, NewYork: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 29-30.
A SONG OF THE SOCK
My friend and neighbor, Thomas Cox,
Is very hard upon his socks,
For be they strongly knit or phony
He punctures them with Trilbys bony.
Though oft his wife darns them and him,
They will not stay in proper trim,
But every night some pink will show
Through some new rent in heel or toe.
When I was young and unbespoken,
And not yet wed and halter broken,
I too had often holey socks,
And so I sympathize with Cox.
For at the store, new brogans trying,
I found it very mortifying.
With one good foot, to save my soul,
I could not tell which sock was whole.
I racked my brain with much ado,
But never pulled the proper shoe;
And gazing on my shrinking skin
The clerks and customers would grin.
No longer worried as before,
I seek with pride the general store
And kick both shoes across the floor;
[30]
For I am wed to Hannah Jane
And both my socks are safe and sane.
So all day long I sing her praises,
And fresh shoe clerks can go to blazes.
Yea when she reads this Rural Rhyme,
She’ll feed me well at dinner time;
My stockings extra smooth she’ll keep
And bake a cake three layers deep.