He’s got a mess o’ troubles on his mind,
And likes to keep ’em underneath his hat.
And p’raps because he isn’t very strong
On talkin’, why, he’s kind o’ weak on ink;
But he can work like sin the whole year long,
And, crickey, how that dad o’ mine can think!
When I set out from Homeville last July,
He didn’t bawl the way my sister did;
He just shook hands and says, “Well, boy, goodbye.”
(He’s got his feelin’s, but he keeps ’em hid.)