the thing has put
Curi’s notions her noddle, for she says I’m
underfoot;
Thinks we oughter light the parlor, get a crowd
and ontertain,
But I ain’t no city loafer,—I’m a farmer down in
Maine.
Course I can’t hurt mother’s feelin’s, wouldn’t
do it for a mint,
Yet that parlor business sticks me, and I guess