THE OLD ROCKIN’ CHAIR.
It tilts a little to the left,
An’ wiggles here and there,
It’s kind-o’ creaky in the j’ints,
An’ ’taint plumb anywhere.
But s’pose you hitch up to’rds the fire,
There, try it ’rond this way;
You’re got to git it joggin’ right,
An’ when you’re tired, w-a-l-l, say,
You’re comforted, you’re comforted,
An’ rested thru an’ thru;
Why, that old rocker’s heaven to me,
But ’taint the same to you.
I ain’t a-goin’ to tell you why,
There ain’t no fairies here,
I h’an’t hearn Annie Laurie sung
For more nor fifty year.
There’s folks what thinks they know “Ben Bolt,”
An’ “Comin’ Thru’ the Rye,”
An’ “Ride away to Boston town,
To make a rabbit pie,”
An’ “Twinkle, twinkle little star,”
But you don’t know ’bout then,
When “Jack the Giant Killer” lived,
An’ Towser ’n’ Uncle Ben.
You don’t know “When they sheared the sheep,”
An’ “England had a King;”
You never had a trundle-bed;
There, now you’ve got the swing.
Of course it wiggles when you rock,
An’ ’taint plumb anywhere,
But ain’t you full o’ happiness,
In that old rockin’ chair?