We'd argy you belonged to us,
An' them Gray-kids the other way!
Till Elsie, one time she wuz here
An' playin' wiv us—Don't you mind,
Old Mister Tree?—an' purty near
She scolded us the hardest kind
Fer quar'llin' 'bout you thataway,
An' say she'll find—ef we'll keep still—
Whose tree you air fer shore, she say,
An' settle it fer good, she will!