From the Newark Evening Star, August 3, 1914.
Same old beach,
Same old peach,
With the same old winsome smile.
Same old stare,
Same hot air,
And the same flirtatious style.
Same old view,
Nothing new,
Same old skeeters there to sting.
Same old sand,
Same old band,
Same old cash register to ring.
Same old drones,
Chaperones,
Sitting in the rocking chairs.
Same old walks,
Same old talks,
Same old spooning on the stairs.
Same canned food,
Boiled and stewed,
Same transparent slice of meat.
Same old girls,
Same old curls,
Same old slot machine to beat.
Same old junk,
Same old bunk,
Same old stunt and nothing more.
Same price list,
Same bridge whist,
Same old never-ending bore.
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