It's Summer, and along East Main
The trees arched o'er from curb to curb.
That thorough fare I tread again
My old time wanderlust to curb

As to the Square I wend my way.
I feel the need of ready cash,
First National has coins to pay,
Frank Glenbo for my locks to slash.

With hair cut in the latest class
I feel the need of stimulant;
At Martin's place take on a glass
Of amber brew, then with intent

To slight no merchant on the Square
To each my friendly greetings bring;
Two partners who for years were
there Gus Mueller and Al Gieseking

Then once again my throat gets dry;
This visiting is quite a chore,
Which means I never will get by
The soda fount of Theo. Loehr.

Now some might call it a mistake
To pass up Rudy Bohrman's place,
But there's no need my thirst to slake
And I continued on my chase.

I mount the steps to talk with Clem,
Discuss Bill Bryan's chance to win;
I find Old Ed quite full of vim
About McKinley's getting in.

With politics put on the shelf
I go on in to get the mail,
Give John Stadler some of my help
And then set out upon the trail.

To Riefenburg's who right next door,
Where Otto with a genial smile,
Extols each piece upon the floor,
Elaborating on its style,

Next, a visit short to Adam Hoch
Who kept his booze in barrels more,
I'll tell the world it was no joke
To count the highballs in his store.

But what's the use;so next I greet
My good old friend, Charley Schumann
Whose specialty was fine fresh meat,
Rich in protein and albumen.

A word or two on Dodson's store,
Then on to Diesel's grocery mart.
Jeff Deadrick meets me at their door
and tries from me my cash to part.

But it's no good, for now my thirst,
Has got the best of me again
And into old Sour Mash I burst,
Inhale a glass of beer and then

Around South Broad I madly dash,
To enter through the open door
Of our town's leading dry goods
mart The property of J. C. Loehr.

Just at the juncture pains and aches
Develope all along my spine,
So quick to Doctor Hankins take
Myself, above friend Bill Horine.

The Doc suggests another drink
At Tiefenbruch's saloon next door
But as I stopped I seemed to shrink
From dissipating anymore.

This roaming sure is hard on shoes
But luckily I've reached the place;
Brockmeier's footwear one ne'r rues;
Be it congress, button or lace.

Now once more shod I take the trail
And drop in on young Otto Wolf
Whose store's aromas now assail
An appetite I've tried to spoof.