Little we cared.
A wedding was all the same to us, if we could only indulge in a downright rollicking shivaree.
So a lot of us got together—I guess there was a dozen.
We had fishhorns and cowbells and tin pans galore.
Well, the racket we put up was enough to wake up the dead.
An hour went by, and not even a light showed.
This made us mad, for you see it's customary after a time to beg off from the serenade by calling the boys in and giving a spread.
We did it some more.
Another hour passed.