His tater head was sorto’ meller like a punkin over-ripe
An’ his yaller face was puckered like a lemon with the gripe;
An’ his front teeth like stalites—or what you call ’em—always gave
To the cavity behind them the appearance of a cave,—
Jist forever an’ forever from life’s earliest beginnin’
Simply nachelly a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin an’ a-grinnin’.
Well, you see, he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it not a bit,
’Cause for some peculiar reason he was born jist that-a-way.
An’ if Nater marks a feller he had better jist submit,
’Cause she wants that mark for somepm, an’ she’s goin to have it stay.