“I touched her on the leg.”
They were singing the game again, the voices blended to a high thin shouting that spread widely under the great trees and out before the creek.
Down she came as soft as silk,
A rose in her bosom as white as milk.
She took off her glove and showed me her ring,
Tomorrow, tomorrow the wedding begins.
Oh, mercy on me what have I done!
I’ve married the father instead of the son.
His back’s as crooked as an old tin pan,
And they’re all a-laughen at my old man.