Leon Reporter, Leon, Iowa
Thursday, October 6, l921

Oh, the corn is ripe in Iowa
And the cats are in the bin,
And it's time to dig the taters,
Tho the crop is mighty thin;
The bloom is on the clover
And the farmer ought to sing
For this year's bumper harvest
Which doesn't mean a thing!

Oh, the corn is ripe in Iowa
And the threshing's long since done,
But the price of oats still hovers
Round the low point in the sun.
The crows are cawing loudly
And the blackbirds southward wing,
The corn is ripe in Iowa
But it doesn't mean a thing!

Oh, the corn is ripe in Iowa
And the congressmen are home
For a thirty day vacation
To rest their thinking dome;
So let us give them welcome,
And all join hands and sing
For the corn that's ripe in Iowa
And does not mean a thing!

Oh, the corn is ripe in Iowa
And the freight rates still are high,
The taxes too, are mounting,
While the farmers moan and sigh
As they haul their grain to market
For whatever it will bring --
It's g.o.p. prosperity,
But it doesn't mean a thing!

--JACK DALTON.

Copied by Nancee(McMurtrey)Seifert