You may not think I tell the truth—
Were grains of Indian corn.
I scanned the players there awhile,
A pleasing thought soon made me smile,
Mused I: “Here’s luck for me.”
I knew a few miles further back,
There stood a corn-crib by the track,
As full as it could be. As full as it could be.
Though dark and wet, I left the place,
And turned my eager, hopeful face