I am eager once more to feel easy, br I'm weary of thinking of dress; br I'm heartily sick of stiff collars, br And trousers the tailor must press. br I'm eagerly waiting the glad days— br When fashion will cease to assert br What I must put on every morning— br The days of the blue flannel shirt. br br I want to get out in the country br And rest by the side of the lake; br To go a few days without shaving, br And give grim old custom the shake. br A week's growth of whiskers, I'm thinking, br At present my chin wouldn't hurt; br And I'm yearning to don those old trousers br And loaf in that blue flannel shirt. br br You can brag all you like of your fashions, br The style of your cutaway coat; br You can boast of your tailor-made raiment, br And the collar that strangles your throat; br But give me the old pair of trousers br That seem to improve with the dirt, br And let me get back to the comfort br That's born of a blue flannel shirt.