I heard of a store filled with hardware supply
That seems to be where old spare parts go to die.
This store, which first opened in 1915,
Had its wares stacked on shelves high and low, and between.
The owner had stocked it right up to the brim,
Each item's location known only to him,
In aisles so narrow, you don't dare traverse:
You might prove the domino theory--or worse.
But, oh, all the things you could buy at that store!
From tools to gadgets to hardware, and more:
There's soldering irons, and steam engine oilers;
Belt buckles, brass fixtures, industrial boilers;
A torch that will burn you and one that just singes,
And box after box of brand new icebox hinges;
Some two-person, crosscutting, tree-felling saws,
And a wrench kind of thing that has jaws just like...Jaws.
There're handles for drawers and mowers galore--
A finer selection in no other store.
They've wrought iron fencing and cast iron pots,
And real estate signs they acquired in large lots.
You could have bought mane brushes (two kinds of course:
This one for the wife, and that one for the horse),
A wall lamp with candles, a holder for whips,
Or a grate that's adorned with Columbus's ships.
I'm sure if you walked in and gave it a name,
You'd leave with the thing, just as sure as you came.
A whose-a-ma-whatsiss, a thing-a-ma-jig,
They've got 'em in small, and they've got 'em in big.
Or maybe you only could give a description;
They'd find just the thing that would fill the prescription.
But now all that stuff must be put on the block;
So here's your big chance to replenish your stock!
—The Supply Guy