’N’ what a boy of my age needs is just a thurru’ rest.
So me an’ Dave’ll get up every mornin’ bright ’n’ soon,
An’ pitch ’n’ ketch till breakfast, ’n’ bat up flies till noon.
’Cause after dinner every day the Hustlehards—his nine—
Is goin’ to play a series fer the champeenship with mine:
The one behind at dark has got to say the other’s best.
Gee! ain’t I glad vacation’s here ’n’ I got time to rest.
Then I’m a-goin’ to learn the other fellers how to dive,
An’ rassle Billy Potter, best thirteen in twenty-five!
’N’ after supper Dave ’n’ I are goin’ to have a race,