I left the farm when mother died and changed my place of dwelling
To daughter Susie-s stylish house right on the city street:
And there was them before I came that sort of scared me, telling
How I would find the town folks- ways so difficult to meet;
They said I-d have no comfort in the rustling, fixed-up throng,
And I-d have to wear stiff collars every weekday, right along.

I find I take to city ways just like a duck to water;
I like the racket and the noise and never tire of shows;
And there-s no end of comfort in the mansion of my daughter,
And everything is right at hand and money freely flows;
And hired help is all about, just listenin- to my call -
But I miss the yellow almanac off my old kitchen wall.

The house is full of calendars from the attic to the cellar,
They-re painted in all colours and are fancy like to see,
But in this one in particular I-m not a modern feller,
And the yellow-covered almanac is good enough for me.
I-m used to it, I-ve seen it round from boyhood to old age,
And I rather like the jokin- at the bottom of the page.

I like the way its -S- stood out to show the week-s beginning,
(In these new-fangled calendars the days seem sort of mixed) ,
And the man upon the cover, though he wa-n-t exactly winnin-,
With lungs and liver all exposed, still showed how we are fixed;
And the letters and credentials hat was writ to Mr. Ayer
I-ve often on a rainy day found readin- pretty fair.

I tried to buy one recently; there wa-n-t none in the city!
They toted out great calendars, in every shape and style.
I looked at them in cold disdain, and answered -em in pity -
-I-d rather have my almanac than all that costly pile.-
And though I take to city life, I-m lonesome after all
For that old yellow almanac upon my kitchen wall.