The limmer’s growin’ young again,
Since she got her annuity.
She’s crined awa’ to bane and skin,
But that, it seems, is naught to me;
She’s like to live, although she’s in
The last stage o’ tenuity.
She munches wi’ her wizen’d gums,
An’ stumps about on legs o’ thrums,
But comes, as sure as Christmas comes,
To ca’ for her annuity.