And cider with a dash of gin,
Foams in the social can;
When the goodman wets his whistle,
And the goodwife scolds the child,
And the girls exclaim convulsively,
“Have done, or I’ll be riled!”
When the loafer sitting next them
Attempts a sly caress,
And whispers, “Oh! you ’possum,
You’ve fixed my heart I guess!”