Swat Trouble

When trouble raises up his head

     An’ stan’s acrost your path,

Why don’t you up an’ let him feel

     The right swing of your wrath.

Don’t fool aroun’ an’ let him git

     The slightest kind uv hold;

Fust thing you know he’ll gether you

     Into his sorry fold.

When trouble raises up his head

     To tackle you at morn,

Draw back your tried an’ trusty sledge

     An’ let him feel your brawn.

Don’t monkey with him, ef you do

     He’ll whimper round until

He gits you off into his cave,

     An’ folks’ll hope he will.

Aug. 10, ‘09

Sat.