The ResurrecHon 



Well sir folks, its sure a pleasure 



Jest to meet the "I. A. A." 



In this great, big Farm Convention; 



Biggest seen in many a day; 



And to work with other fellers, 



Strivin' jest the same as me, , '" ' 



Plannin' out some way to hurry 



Good, old time prosperity. • - ■ 



Course, I aint quite got the back-ground 



That the youngsters git in schools; 



All 'bout plantin' and rotatin,' 



I aint never farmed by rules; 



But I've got a sort o' hankerin' 



Jest to set and listen in, 



Mebbe that way git some pointers: 



Folks'U wonder where I've been. 



They tell me you've got a feller "';' 



That is sort o' runnin' things; '' • 

 He's your president or somethin,* 

 When he speaks your doubt takes wings. 

 I've been hearin' some about him, 

 'Bout the things that he has done; 

 If its facts they've been a tellin' 

 He's a goin' son-of-a-gun. 



Name is "Smith," that aint uncommon. 

 Though they aint none like this chap; 

 He's the one that's been a puttin' 

 Illinois right on the map. 

 Goes to these Farm Bureau meetin's. 

 Talks to folks like you and me; 

 Then to Washington next mornin,' 

 Takes it up with "Franklin D." 



Just discussin' Agriculture, 

 Plain and honest, nothin' rank; 

 Theys another "Smith" I heard of 

 Aint so all-fired fond o' "Frank." 

 That one don't know much 'bout farmin,' 

 Never could be Earl Smith's pal; 

 From the way he's been performin,' 

 Mostly int'rested in "AI." 



But the friends of Agriculture 

 Knowed how all us farmers feel; 

 Looked to Wallace and to Davis, 

 To Earl Smith and Ed O'Neal. 

 Once they set right down to plannin,' 

 Worked it out from day to day. 

 Then by-gravy, went to Congress 

 And they passed the "A. A. A." ■ 



That first "A" is for the "Angels" 

 Lookin' down on our hard luck. 

 And the next, the "Aid" they give us 

 When the times is hard to buck. 

 And the third "A" for "America," 

 For the folks like you and me; 

 I thank God for them three letters, 

 ".A.ngels Aid America." 



Then the act it got to workin,' 

 "Corn-Hog Plan" and everything; 

 Folks, it made my old heart happy 

 Jest to hear the farmers sing. 

 Went to payin' off their taxes. 

 Saved the old farms from the wreck; 

 Old Depression started skiddin,' 

 Got the axe right in the neck. 



Buyin' harness and machin'ry 

 And replacin' patched-up fence, 

 Buildin', paintin', fertilizin'; ■■' 



The improvements was immense. 

 Lookin' up with faces happy, 

 Smilin' eyes with trace o' tears, 

 "Triple A" had solved their problem, 

 Thankful hearts and without fears. 



"We Are the Boys From Old Pawnee" 



H. B. Austin, Springfield, second from left is leader of the Quartet and Author 

 of the Impromptu Verse which Annually D3lights lAA Convention Visitors. 



Then "Big Int'rests" started cussin' 

 'Cause the farmer had a chance. 

 Didn't like him havn' plenty , . 

 And an extry pair o' pants. 

 So they tried to raise a ruction. 

 Wasn't int'rested in facts. 

 And they started their campaignin' 

 On this here "Processin' Tax." 



Couldn't take the bumps and like it. 

 Never knowed to be a sport. 

 Went a howlin' and a bawlin' \ 

 To this here big Supreme Court. 

 Now the Court 'bout which I'm speakin. 

 You hear of 'em now and then; 

 Reckon they aint nothin' special, 

 'Cept they're nine right nice old men. 



The old fellers seen their best days 

 'Long 'bout fifty years ago; 

 While they're meanin' to be harm'ess. 

 Heaps o' things they'll never know. 

 When they all was little shavers. 

 Yokes of oxen was the thing; 

 Double-shovels, old "A" harrows 

 Was a certain sign o' spring. 



Gas'lene tractors, modern combines 

 Wasn't due for quite a while; 

 Wooden mole-boards up and comin' 

 And the "Down Row" right in style. 

 Them old fellers put their feet down. 

 Said, "We'll draw a tighter check. 

 These durn farmers git so prosp'rous. 

 Pretty soon they'll wash their neck." 



And "Big Business" real convincin' 



Pointin' scornful at the "Hicks," 



Sold the idea to the Judges; 



You ^an't teach old dogs new tricks. 



No, not all, its quite confusin,' 



But 'twas a majority; 



Seems the brains o' that there body 



Rests in the minority. 



A. A. A. it lay there gaspin,' 

 Out of it they'd knocked the breath; 

 But, said Smith, O'Neal and Wallace, 

 "Triple A, There is no Death." 



They applied the old pulmotor. 

 Agriculture hoped and grinned. 

 Said, "Right soon its pulse'U quicken. 

 It'll git its second wind." 



Enemies went 'bout their business. 



Or feelin' tired, they went to bed. 



For they figgered, "Their big worry, 



A. A. A. was mighty dead." 



But the farmers, they knowed better. 



Didn't even heave a sigh; 



Stood there look'n' mighty solemn 



But they winked the other eye. 



A. A. A. it started stirrin,' 



Set right up and blinked its eyes. 



Then they done a thing durned clever; 



"Fixed it up a real disguise." 



Cut its hafr and trimmed its whiskers, 



Desperation takes a chance; 



Brand new clothes from top to bottom. 



Shirt and vest and coat and pants. 



Then it got up, felt its muscles. 



In the street it saw a mob. 



Squared itself for durned hard fightin'; 



Enemies was on the job. 



Didn't none object to scrappin' 



Since they'd been declarin' war; 



Mix it with 'em in Committee 



Or a show-down on the "Floor." 



Some was feelin' sort o' squeamish 

 'Bout a battle there and then, 

 Thinkin' some about conferrin' 

 With them same right nice old men. 

 Others said, "By-Gum we'll pass it, 

 Aint no use to die of fears; 

 Them old fellers saved the last on« 

 Til it lived about three years." 



Now, my friends, they're still a figgerin,' 



Wonderin' what will be their fate; 



But I calculate the best bet 



Is to work it through the State. 



"Triple A" is watchful waitin,' 



Growin' stronger every day; 



When it steps out 'twill look diffrent, 



But the same old "A. A. A." 



H. B. AUSTIN. 



FEBRUARY, 1936 



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