Bet your currency Joe was there;
An’ ef he didn’t head inter the fun,
He’d see as all things went square;
’Twas a Fourth o’ July to see him hop round,
Along of his ’leven-inch knife,
And the way his man would nose the ground
Was the pootiest sight in life.
His Bowie was now jest a ’leven-inch rip,
(’Twas thirteen when it was bought,