While muscles shook in his youthful chin.
His gills were green, but he smole a smile;
He sat high up on the farmyard stile,
And cocked his hat o’er his glassy eye,
Then wunk a wink at a cow near by.
The earth swam round, but the stile stood still,
The trees rose up and the kid crawled down
He groaned aloud for he felt so ill,
And knew that cigar had “done him brown.”
His head was light, and his feet like lead,