Since time in the primer first sharpen’d his scythe,
And the sands in his glass were beginning to flow,
There never was spectacle bonny and blithe,
Which came fairly up to our Grand Cattle Show.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.
Here’s bulls, hogs, and horses, and sheep not a few,
Respectable animals, worthy a prize,
Like good go-to-meeting folks, each in his pew,
All sober as deacons—if not quite so wise.
Master Pig is the Chorister, just twist his tail,