You know me, boys—and girls, you do,
The month of the year I am sure for you—
With crackers and cannon and squibs and rockets,
And pistols and caps in small boys’ pockets—
With fireworks and music and jolly noise,
I’m the favorite month with girls and boys.
Now am I not, Eh?
Jury. [With hands over their ears.]
We love you once in a long year
But more than that would tire, we fear.