Grandma's sitting in her attic, Oiling up her automatic. Mid-Victorian is her style, Prim yet gentle is her smile As she fits the cartridges One by one, and softly says: "Grandson is a Dry Enforcer. Grandpa is a Legger- All for one and one for all- I'll never die a beggar. Bill brings booze from Montreal, Grandpa lets him through- Oh, life's been rosy for us folks Since the red-light laws went blue."

Pretty Sadie, aged fourteen, To a lamp-post clings serene. "What's the matter?" some may ask. On her hip she wears a flask Labelled "Tonic for the Hair"- "Hic," says Sadie, "we should care!" "Father is a corner druggist- Why should I abstain? Brother is a counterfeiter, Printing labels plain. I can buy grain alcohol As all the neighbors do; And if you treat me right I'll lend My formula to you."

Sits the plumber, man of metal. Joining gas-pipes to a kettle. 'Neath the bed his wife is lying Rather silent-she is dying From some gin her husband gave her. He's too busy now to save her. "Things," he sings, "are looking upward; I am making stills. Soon we'll cook the stuff by wholesale, Running twenty 'mills.' What we make and how we make it Doesn't cut no ice. Anything you sell in bottles Brings the standard price."