When even whiskey’s gittin’ skurce, an’ sugar can’t be found,
To know thet all the ellerments o’ luxury abound?
An’ don’t it glorify sal’-pork, to come to understand
It’s wut the Richmon’ editors call fatness o’ the land?
Nex’ thing to knowin’ you’re well off is nut to know when y’ ain’t;
An’ ef Jeff says all’s goin’ wal, who’ll ventur’ t’ say it ain’t?
This cairn the Constitooshun roun’ ez Jeff doos in his hat
Is hendier a dreffle sight, an’ comes more kin’ o’ pat.
I tell ye wut, my jedgment is you’re pooty sure to fail,
Ez long ’z the head keeps turnin’ back for counsel to the tail: