Thrift!

"Torkin' o' slums," said Dusty Dick,
   "An' 'ard-up country dwellers;
This 'igh-falutin' makes me sick
   Among them city fellers.
Four walls, a bunk, a box or two
   Does me. Shirt, boots an' trouse's.
I ain't extravagant like you
   With fancy duds an' 'ouses.

"Take them swell boots you're wearin' now
   Tho' I'm a fair 'ard walker,
I wouldn't pay that price, no'ow.
   Mine? Nine bob, off the 'awker.'
"But wait a bit," his friend replied,
   "Don't let this git confusin'.
I bet your boots ain't lined inside?
   Thought so. Well, son, you're losin'.

"'Cos why? Cos cheap boots might'n' pay -
   No; that ain't nothink funny
But I saves in another way
   Where you does in your money.
Good boots don't wear good socks out quick;
   Your cheap 'uns rubs an' tears em."
"Got you again I" cried Dusty Dick,
   "Wot? Socks? I never wears 'em!"