An’ her paw sez he will get it soon as he kin sell a cow,
Sez he kin dispose o’ Muly—I jest told him no sir-e-e
Not fur no new-fangled nonsense—Muly’s my cow, an’ you see
He’s jest got a spite ag’in her ’cause she’s got a lengthy tail
An’ in fightin’ skeeters sometimes whicks it in th’ milkin’ pail.
Oh, I’ll be the gladdest mortal when I reach th’ kitchen door
Of that dear old farmhouse standin’ on Newbrasky’s fertile shore!
No, I don’t enjoy th’ city where the wimmen folks is dressed
Monday an’ clean through till Saturday all in their Sunday best.
I jest like to ketch my wrapper up ’n’ pin it ’round my waist,