We would be when we bore her away.
But a month er so after the weddin’,
When honeymoon season is flown,
She quits sayin’ “dear”
An’ she gits on her ear
An’ she kicks us plumb off of the throne.
It’s likewise up here in the timber:
We think we are runnin’ the thing;
We’re falling the trees
An’ we’re makin’ it freeze—