An’ had a doctor come.

He hardly ever stubs his toe,

An’ if he does, he’ll bawl!

There’s nothin’ special comes to him—

He don’t have luck at all.

An’ I don’t care if he can say

More tex’s an’ things ’an I;

He never burnt both hands to once

’Long ’bout the Fo’th July.

He never had the chicken-pox,