Kicked the wagon in bits and spun’round on
one ear.
And he rigged a contrivance by which ev’ry
morn
His old Brahma rooster descending for corn,
Stepped down on a lever that flipped up a lock
And down came the fodder in front of the
stock.
Still, these were but puerile notions beside
The thing that he hoped for—his spur and his