Argerin’ ‘Ith Satan

When Satan comes a-nosing roun’,

A-pokin’ in my private groun’,

Suggesting things fur me tur dew,

Hintin’ what course I shell pursue,

I don’t git mad an’ grab the broom

An’ whack an’ chase him roun’ the room;

I say, “Now Satan, sence you’re here,

Take off yeour hat, an’ take a cheer;

Set down, an’ ‘en perceed tur state

Yeour case, an’ dew it fair an’ straight.”

I treat him ez I would a soul

Who’s gone astray, an’ in the hole;

A man who’s wrong in pollertics,

Or any other mental fix;

In other words, I am content

Tur do it all by argerment.

Uv course we hev it thick an’ fast;

We arger fust, an’ arger last.

I put him in the corner, ‘n’en

He hutches me back out ergen.

We arger high an’ arger low;

I won’t give in, an’ he won’t go,

Tell finally, I git so riled

Et all the insults he hez piled

‘At I swell up an’ loudly cry,

(An’ he sees murder in my eye),

“Yeou igneramous, heathenite,

Yeou know ‘at I, not yeou, am right!”

Then Satan sorter drops his chin,

An’ leaves my premises ergin;

An’ sez, ez he goes threw the door,

“I’ll see yeou later on this score.”

But fur nigh outer thirty year

We’ve talked these matters over here;

An’ still to-day, I am content,

Tur do it all by argerment.

Sept. 11, 1894

Pub. March 17,

B. Courier, 1895