Said she, “John Styles, it’s one o’clock;
You’ll die of indigestion;
I’m sick of all this popping corn—
Why don’t you pop the question?”
HOW THE FARMER WORKS.
For Several Boys.
This is the way the happy farmer(1)
Plows his piece of ground,
Said she, “John Styles, it’s one o’clock;
You’ll die of indigestion;
I’m sick of all this popping corn—
Why don’t you pop the question?”
For Several Boys.
This is the way the happy farmer(1)
Plows his piece of ground,