Where he’d took it to be sawed
At a dollar’n ten a cord.
And I’d say. Ye’re at it late.”
Then he’d grunt himself up straight.
Slick his for’ead clear of sweat
And he’d say. “Wal, you jest bet!
Bankin’ hours don’t jibe in good
With this job cf sawin’ wood.
Still, when this ’ere don’t suit me
I kin go and climb a tree.”