Uncle Dan'L In Town Over Sunday

I cain't git used to city ways-- Ner never could, I' bet my hat! Jevver know jes' whur I was raised?-- Raised on a farm! D' ever tell you that? Was undoubtatly, I declare! And now, on Sunday--fun to spare Around a farm! Why jes' to set Up on the top three-cornered rail Of Pap's old place, nigh La Fayette, I'd swap my soul off, hide and tail! You fellers in the city here, You don't know nothin'!--S'pose to-day, This clatterin' Sunday, you waked up Without no jinglin'-janglin' bells, Ner rattlin' of the milkman's cup, Ner any swarm of screechin' birds Like these here English swallers--S'pose Ut you could miss all noise like those, And git shet o' thinkin' of 'em afterwerds, And then, in the country, wake and hear Nothin' but silence--wake and see Nothin' but green woods fur and near?-- What sort o' Sunday would that be?... Wisht I hed you home with me! Now think! The laziest of all days-- To git up any time--er sleep-- Er jes' lay round and watch the haze A-dancin' 'crost the wheat, and keep My pipe a-goern laisurely, And puff and whiff as pleases me-- And ef I leave a trail of smoke Clean through the house, no one to say, "Wah! throw that nasty thing away; Hev some regyard fer decency!" To walk round barefoot, if you choose; Er saw the fiddle--er dig some bait And go a-fishin'--er pitch hoss shoes Out in the shade somewhurs, and wait For dinner-time, with an appetite Ut folks in town cain't equal quite! To laze around the barn and poke Fer hens' nests--er git up a match Betwixt the boys, and watch 'em scratch And rassle round, and sweat and swear And quarrel to their hearts' content; And me a-jes' a-settin' there A-hatchin' out more devilment! What sort o' Sunday would that be?... Wisht I hed you home with me!