A critter boun’ fer grief.
I dassent tell the gals ye’r’ goin’—
I couldn’t, gosh a’mity;
They’ll miss ye tur’bul—fer a spell—
An’ bawl for “little Whitey.”
Thar’s Lon—he’s come ter round ye up.
Goo’ by, ol’ chap—O darn!
They’s suthin’ ’t I hev clean fergot—
I reck’n I’ll gw’int’ the barn.