SON HAS GOT THE DEED
Mother fights with Marshy, and Marshy fights
with her,
—Don’t give up yer proputty, I’m tellin’ on yer,
sir!
Don’t give up yer proputty to nary blessed one,
—Don’t keer whuther brother, sir, or nephy,
sir, or son.
Don’t make over northin’, sir, ontil you’re done
and through,
Or ye’ll cuss the day ye done it till the air is
black and blue..
Me and marm got feeble and we couldn’t run
the farm,
Son was newly married and we couldn’t see the
harm
In makin’ on it over, we to have the ell and shed,
Use the sittin’ room in common—and a room
for one spare bed.
And so we made the papers and we signed ’em,
me and wife,
’Lowin’ them the stand and stock, and us our
keep for life.
Twelvemonth isn’t finished, but the trouble has
begun,
An’ it’s one continyal rowin’ ’twixt us and her
and son.
Marshy dings at mother and mother dings at her,
’F things ain’t settled somehow, sir, they’ll git
to clawin’ fur.
Don’t give up yer proputty, I’m tellin’ on ye
straight.
Don’t keer who your family is, ye’ll rue it sure
as fate.
’Fore ye sign the papers they’ll come round ye
slicker’n cream,
But ye’ll notice little later, sir, that things ain’t
what they seem.
Man that’s got his proputty, he’s looked to with
respect;
Relations they come meechin’ round to
scratch, sir, where he’s pecked.
Ye see, he rules the family roost and leads the
family flock,
As proud and full of manners as a Cochin China
cock.
But if the years have loosened up his intellect
and grip,
And if he thinks his folks are straight, and lets
the old farm slip,
He’ll find the grin becomes a frown and sweet-
ness turns to greed,
For folks see things in different light when once
they’ve got a deed.
Now Marshy snarls at mother and mother sends
it back,
And all the time, from sun to sun, it’s clack and
clack and clack!
Don’t give up yer propputy, hang on till death,
I say;
It’s time when you are done with it to give your
all away.
Oh, how the devil snickers round when some
old codger drools
About “the laying down of cares”—and jines
the ranks of fools!
And how the lawyers laugh and joke, and how
the angels weep,
To see some old folks deed away their farm for
board and keep!
—Never see’d no better cook than Marshy
used to be,
When first along she’d ask us down to dinner
or to tea.
Used to sweeten grub with smiles when she
would pass a plate,
And me and marm, like two old coots, we swal-
lowed hook and bait.
You bet we git some diff’rent looks, we git some
different feed,
Jest like they’d throw it out to dogs, now son
has got the deed.
An’ Marshy growls at mother, and mother’s
growlin’ wuss,
An’ I—wal, I jest set and smoke and cuss—
and cuss—and cuss!