Have you bought a suit at Spand and Spitz?
They won't let you wear it unless it fits.
That's what they war you in all their ads,
And Spand and Spitz are scrupulous lads.
Spand and Spitz are intenesely scrupulous,
You can't wear their suit if the seat is droopulous,
Do you want it for slumming, or tea at the Ritz?
They won't let you wear it unless it fits.
The pants they carry are envy arousers.
In fact, they are not pants, they are trousers.
You select a suit and call it quits,
As far as you are concerned, it fits.
You put your money and keys and comb in it,
You prepare to pay, and walk on home in it.
When here comes Spitz and here comes Spand,
They look at you like a swollen gland,
Spitz swears to Spand, who swears to Spitz,
They won't let you wear it unless it fits.
You adore the suit, you appeal to Spand,
He jerks it apart with loving hand;
He rips it off, while Spand on you sits.
It may be the suit that you're who it's made for,
The suit you have fought for and bought and paid for;
But if Spand and Spitz don't admit it fits you,
To wear it away, you must learn jujitsu.
The hell with this esthetic palaver
When you just want to cover your threadbare cadaver.

--- Ogden Nash.