From the Evening Star, December 29, 1912. By Philander Johnson.
 

 They sing about the dear old farm,
     And of the leafy lane,
 And of the village school whose charm
     They cannot quite explain.
 And since they wander through the map
     While touching strains are sung,
 I’ll carol of the street car strap,
     Where I have often hung!
 
 How I swayed with courage stout,
 Like some banner tossed about!
     I almost learned to take a little nap.
 With a cultivated twist
 Of the muscles of my wrist,
     I have dangled daily from the street car strap!
 
 We strive to view the roof o’erhead
     With an expression sweet.
 We say “Beg pardon!” as we tread
     On one another’s feet.
 How proudly shines the polished place
     Round which our hands we wrap,
 As in suspension there we grace
     The dear old street car strap!
 
 How it helped to keep my nerve
 As we went around the curve
     And almost fell into somebody’s lap.
 I enjoy my only chance
 At a modern ragtime dance
     As I hang upon that dear old street car strap.