The Promised Land of Mr. Moses

Whence, oh whence did the Fair appear?

Out of nowhere into the here.

Did it just spring up in a flash when bidden?

No, you can bet your life it didden.

How was the marsh grass changed to roses?

By a crusty magician, name of Moses.

He'll make you, while turning a somersault,

Good bricks without straw, good beer without malt,

He'll build you a mansion out of knot holes,

Or a garden out of a mess of pot holes.

He looked at a waste of mud and sand,

And Moses envisioned a Promised Land.

Then Moses he called upon the Lord,

And RCA and DuPont and Ford.

GE, he had a word with them,

As well as Chrysler and IBM,

And he lured to his fantastic island

Nations from Mexico to Thailand.

That's why you can murmur Oh and Ah

At Michelangelo's Pieta,

Or even give out with reverent Oohs

When Elsie the Cow in person moos.

You'll find it a change from your daily chores

To gaze at the monstrous dinosaurs

From the era when Earth was embryonic;

They are genuine Audio-anamatronic.

Then of future modes you can be an adopter,

You can skitter around in a aquacopter,

Or ride up on a thing called the People Wall

To a lofty ovoid cinema hall,

And forget the traffic upon the highway

When the Time Tunnel meets the Magic Skyway.

If you're mad about Polynesian girls

Entrancing divers will bring you pearls,

Or should you prefer a mausoleum

You can spend one hour in the Wax Museum.

You can take your shoes, with the other scuffers,

To be shined for free by powered buffers.

You can gaze on the replica, fit for a houri,

Of the marvelous Mondop of Saraburi,

And while in an Oriental mood

You can find the proper exotic food

At the International Gourmet Snack Bar,

Fit for the Mogul emperor Akbar.

Next you can penetrate, happy tourist,

Deep in the strange Enchanted Forest,

Where clad in a dainty enchanted bodice,

Mayhap you will meet the Enchanted Goddess.

The Enchanted Goddess! Who can she be?

If you're overpowered by her arts alchemic

You can enter the Hospital Atodemic,

And three thousand Pinkerton brave police

Will keep an eye on your daughter or niece.

Meanwhile, I shall be goggling at

Washington's sword and Lincoln's hat.

So fret not, parents, or tear your hair

And wonder why Johnnie's so long at the Fair.

And Johnnie, do not fume and foam

If your parents are late in getting home;

Nobody departs, until it closes,

From the Promised Land of Mr. Moses.