Climbed over a ten rail, eight foot fence
And stowed a Melon beneath each vest.
Three little colics appeared that night
And tackled the cherubs three—
Oh, the groan, the pain, the misery,
The cramp, the gripe, and the inward hurt,
The fate that doctors couldn’t avert,
Three Undertakers at morning’s light.
Let Melons go sailing everywhere
And women are born to weep,