That hangs around that queer day’s doin’s:
But I’ll tell the yarn to you-uns.
Tom Taggart stood behind his bar;
The time was fall, the skies was far;
The neighbours round the counter drawed,
And ca’mly drinked and jawed.
At last come Colonel Blood, of Pike,
And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus—like;
And each, as he meandered in,
Remarked “A whiskey-skin.”