The City Says Goodbye

Show Week is nearly over, and the
    stock is booked for home,
And Dad and Mum are busy pack-
    ing up.
Their boxes must have shrunk for
    they've had to buy a trunk
Since they left Kerang, or Sale, or
    Koo-wee-rup.

They came to Melbourne wealthy,
    and they leave it rather poor—
But somebody's the richer for their
    stay.
Yes; the salesmen all loved Dad for
    the cheery smile he had:
And because they loved him so—
    they made him pay.

It is funny how the city makes your
    clothes fall out of shape;
Yet Dad had never noticed what
    was wrong;
He has worn his old suit blindly, till
    the tailor very kindly—
Rectified the little error—for a
    song.

While Mum has bought a costume
    that will make the township
        talk,
Designed to charm, to dazzle, to
    entice;
They viewed its going readily; but Mum
    wanted it so badly
That they generously sold it—at a
    price.

There's a table for the parlor, and a
    walnut bedroom suite,
There's a gramophone, and some-
    thing for the kid;
With Dad on the horizon, they vowed
    to get their eyes on
The color of his money—and they
    did.

They'll miss you, Dad, in Collins
    Street; they'll miss you in
        Prahran—
(But they hope to see you next
    year at the Show.)
You're an honest man and true, and
    they like your cheque-book
        too.
Yes—the city will be poorer, when
    you go.