On them kittle-drums o’ yourn,
’Tain’t a knowin’ kind o’ cattle
Thet is ketched with moldy corn;
Put in stiff, you fifer feller,
Let folks see how spry you be—
Guess you’ll toot till you are yeller
’Fore you git a-hold o’ me!
Thet air flag’s a leetle rotten,
Hope it ain’t your Sunday’s best—
Fact! it takes a sight o’ cotton