Franklin P. Adams - Ballade Of The Breakfast Table lyrics

When the Festal Board, as the papers say, Groans 'neath the weight of a lot to eat, At breakfast, Fruhstuck or dejeuner, (As a bard tri-lingual I'm rather neat) At breakfast, then, if I may repeat, This is what gets me into a huff, This is a query I cannot beat: Why don't they ever have spoons enough? I've broken my fast with the grave and gay, With hoi polloi and with the elite; I've been all over the U. S. A. From Dorchester Crossing to Kearney Street. But aye when I sit in the morning seat Comes to my notice the self-same bluff, Plenty of food, but in this they cheat: Why don't they ever have spoons enough? Take it at breakfast, only to-day: This was the layout, fresh and sweet: Canteloupe, sweet as the new-mown hay; [Footnote: And about as edible.] Cereal-one of the brands[Footnote: To advertisers: This space for sale.] of wheat; Soft-boiled eggs (we've cut out the meat) : Coffee (a claro-manila-buff) : Napery, china, and gla**es complete- Why don't they ever have spoons enough? L'ENVOI Autocratesses, forgive my heat, But isn't it time to change that stuff? Small is the benison I entreat- Why don't they ever have spoons enough?