So he had to, and go it very slow.
Uncle Tim was a hard one, and he used to take his T,
And the way he used to take it wasn’t slow;
And the kind he used to take it wasn’t Bohee,
If it had a been it wouldn’t have served him so.
Oh! he toddled, t’other day, into the William Tell
A noted loafer’s cubby-hole, you know;
Where they sell for medicine the raw material,
And sea-turtles caught in the Ohio.
He drank and he spree’d till his money was all gone,