He’s lord of all de fiel’s an’ woods,
He wuck me all he can.
He stays up in de big white house,
Long wid his cake an’ ale,
He nurver kno’s whut joy it am
To hunt ole cotton-tail.
Whut keer I if dat fence am ruint,
Whut keer I fer de cost?
Ef I don’t make a hole down dar
Dat cotton-tail am lost.