But while I larfed I clean forgot the Jackson
corderoy,
And when we struck that on the run, we got
our h’ist, my boy.
Old Clark went up jest like a ball and, next the
critter knowed,
Come whizzlin’ down, s’r, gun and all, starn-
fust there in the road.
And when the gun-butt struck the ground, ker-
whango, off she went,