Wal, I’ve ben where a litt’ry taste don’t somehow seem to git
Th’ encouragement a feller’d think, thet’s used to public schools,
An’ where sech things ez paper ’n’ ink air clean agin the rules:
A kind o’ vicyvarsy house, built dreffle strong an’ stout,
So ’s ’t honest people can’t git in, ner t’ other sort git out,
An’ with the winders so contrived, you’d prob’ly like the view
Better a-lookin’ in than out, though it seems sing’lar, tu;
But then the landlord sets by ye, can’t bear ye out o’ sight,
And locks ye up ez reg’lar ez an outside door at night.
This world is awfle contrary: the rope may stretch your neck