Tell me if you can, the rule by which a man
Selects his worse or better half.
Truly it would seem to be a lott'ry scheme,
The prizes often make one laugh.
The woman slim and thin and tall,
Will love a human butter ball;
While one who's round and plump and fat,
Adores some one as tall as that.
The author of a learned book,
Is sometimes wedded to his cook;
The girl who's frivolous and gay,
Picks out a meek Y. M. C. A.
The statesman with ambition high,
Will choose a social butterfly;
The Charley kind of mamma's pet
Pursues the elderly soubrette.
You've seen the beauty linked by fate
To freckled Fred, whose eyes don't mate.
The broker worships as a queen,
The blonde who plays a Smith machine.
The howling swell will court a peach,
All paint and powder, pads and bleach;
And dainty Dottie, small and neat,
Loves awkward John, all hands and feet.
The man who sixty years has seen,
Gets mashed on something just sixteen;
The stylish maid, divinely fair,
A fiddling freak with lots of hair.
A well-bred heiress will elope
With one who uses scented soap;
While gray-haired widows oft amaze
By taking tender boys to raise.
The pious deacon gets roped in
By Gertie gay, who wants his tin;
The kind that wholesale men adore,
Don't know that two and two make four.
Cupid leaves all rules behind
Funny married folks we find,
Love, ah, Love! you must be blind.
