An' agin I be a school-boy with the other merry lads,
When Joe an' Jerry, Bill an' I, wus only little tads,
When a half a dozen marvels an' a kivered ball was worth—
With a knife o' Barlow pattern—all the treasures o' the earth;
An' the soundin' sort o' thunder from a poppin' kind o' gun
Set our faces all a-giggle on the banks o' Turkey Run.
It 'ud tickle any feller but ter see the solemn look,
When the master was a-watchin', thet we fastened on the book,
But the mischief stickin' in us, like pertaters in a sack,
It wus never hard ter empty when the teacher turned his back;