I guess—I bet ’ist all the same,
I’m papa’s boy an’ mamma’s dear,
An’ I be glad ’ist ’cuz I’m here.
It’s hard to make a name, I s’pose,
W’en they have used ’bout all o’ those
That they have heard or that they’ve read—
O’ course, there’s more w’en people’s dead.
An’ now I wonder if that I
Will leave my name w’en I must die.
I guess it’s so, ’cuz we ’ist call