Fer I am satisfied.
Now, take the pine on yonder hill:
It don’t belong to me;
The boss he owns the timber—still,
It’s there fer me to see.
An’, ’twixt the ownin’ of the same
An’ smellin’ of its smell,
I’ve got the best of that there game,
An’ so I’m feelin’ well.
The boss in town unrolls a map