By dam, dat Dutchman he go dead;
Dey took and cut him up in slats,
Dey said he’d be good to poison rats.
And now, good folks, my song is done,
I hope dat I’ve offended none;
We lay our lager on de shelf,
If you want any more, you may sing it yourself.
The Old Whiskey Jug.
We’re anchor’d by the roadside, Jim,