When down he scrambled from his hoss,
And off his coat did go.
"He sorter kinder shut one eye,
And spit into his hand,
And put his ugly head one side,
And twitched his trowsers' band.
"'My boy,' says he, 'it's my belief,
Whomever you may be,
That I kin make you screech, and smell
Pertikler agony.'