As we strode o’er the planks of that old Smoke House floor.
As we crossed its foul portals what a smell there came from it,
Especially when pork had been fried on the fire;
How loud and how long were those deep exclamations
That greeted our ears and stirred up our ire.
How well we remember when the winds they were contrary,
And the smoke filled our eyes and our nostrils as well.
How we vowed that the man who had planned that old Smoke House
Should be consigned to a place I care not to tell.
Some called it an ark, and some an old barrack,