He seen it comin’—hed no chance ter dodge.
He laid in bed a week afore he woke,
An’ staid thar ’nother nursin’ up ’is face.
A few days later meetin’ that ’ar mule
Bill sez, a-shak’n’ ’is finger playful-like,
“’F I knowed fer sure ’t was yew thet done this ’ere,
I reck’n I might git mad, but I dunno,”
An’ han’s the graynose cuss a fresh pulled carrot.
That’s Bill all over. Fifty years o’ playin’
The game agin the god o’ Luck hez made