Ii

And I've got up and lit the lamp, and clum On cheers and trunks and wash-stands and bureaus, And all such dangerous articles as those, And biffed at you with brooms, and never come 'In two feet of you,--maybe skeered you some,-- But what does that amount to when it throws A feller out o' balance, and his nose Gits barked ag'inst the mantel, while you hum Fer joy around the room, and churn your head Ag'inst the ceilin', and draw back and butt The plasterin' loose, and drop--behind the bed, Where never human-bein' ever putt Harm's hand on you, er ever truthful said He'd choked yer dern infernal wizzen shut!