Boys amount to more’n you’d suppose
—Got good jobs and wear good clothes.
If they’d turned out shiftless, gosh,
Never’d took the thing from Posh!
Posh, he died at seventy-one,
—Worked right up till set of sun.
Sawed his reg’lar cord that day,
Et his supper reg’lar way,
Told his wife warn’t feel in’ well:
Said he guessed he’d drowse a spell.