"WHY, MISSY, THREE DAYS BEFORE THE ARMISTICE THE AIR WAS
THAT THICK WITH AEROPLANES THE BIRDS HAD TO GET DOWN AND WALK."]
* * * * *
THE SAUSAGE ROLL.
THE VERY LATEST DANCE.
[To any English composer who has not yet contributed to the
wave of music and dance which is now sweeping the country the
writer offers the following as the basis of an entirely new
and original dance, strictly national in character and full
of that quaint old rustic, not to say aboriginal, grace which
distinguishes modern dance-music.]
Oh say, won't you stay down-away at the Sausage Farm?
It's a scream, it wouldn't seem you could dream such perfect ch-e-arm;
You can bet that Jazz'll be beat to a frazzle,
And the old Fox Trot'll be a pale green mottle,
When they gauge what's the rage of the age at the Sausage Farm.
(CRASH! BANG! TINKLE!)
_Come along, you'll be wrong if you miss that Sausage Roll._
_Every pig does the jig, for he's in this heart and so-ul:_
_See the old sow shout, "What about my litter?"_
_But she dries those tears when she hears, poor crittur,_
_That they're all at the Ball in the Soss-Soss-Sausage Roll.
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