Sniffing the Gasoline

Content Tools

1223 Westover Road Danville, Virginia 24541

(Taken from the Farm Implement News of June 13, 1912) By F. L. Morrison

I long for the song of the rippling rill, For the shimmer of sun on leaf; For the breeze-kissed rim of the distant hill My soul cries out in its grief. But instead I endure the city's tug, With its parks of made-up green, For here I can hear the engine's chug While sniffing the gasoline.

I long to arise at the break of day And go forth with the lowing kine; I pine for the fragrance of new mown hay, For the pleasures that once were mine. Instead in the city I toil and lug, And dream of a country scene, For here I can hear the engine's chug While sniffing the gasoline.

Again I'd be in the dear old home, Midst the fields of waving corn, Nor ever again would I care to roam From the place where I was born; But the city holds me tight in its hug, With a hold that only can mean That her I can hear the engine's chug While sniffing the gasoline.

You tell me they've got an engine there now, And a big red automobile? Then to city life I'll make my bow And get back to where things are real. So here's to the farm, let's all drink a mug; There's no better place, I ween, If there I can hear the engine's chug While sniffing the gasoline.