Ballad of the Gungy Fair

“Here’s your hot peanuts,

     Two bags fur five!

Here’s your warm frankfurts,

     Eat ‘em alive!

Here’s your cold sody,

     Guess on your weight;

Ring a cane, fellers

     An’ cream ten a plate!

                   Fakir’s Row

Last week ol’ Gungy hed a fair uv most tremenjus size,

An’ ev’rybuddy near an’ fur they praised it to the skies;

It warn’t no single hoss affair, ez lots uv fairs turn out,

But jest a full-growed country fair with side-shows all about.

Why talk about your features in them city fairs up state!

We hed ‘em here in Gungy, jest ez many an’ ez great;

Fur towns the size uv Gungywamp we sure wuz goin’ some –

We almost hed the Guv’nor, but he wrote he couldn’t come.

Hamp Culver hed twelve yokes uv steers an’ walked ‘em round the lot,

An’ ev’rybody likin’ steers they visited the spot.

A summer gal wuz lookin’ on, an’ says to her Aunt Liz:

“Thet man must git a lot uv milk frum all them cows uv his!”

An’ when the gungy band struck up she nudged her aunt an’ said,

With thet peculiar city drawl an’ tossin’ uv her head:

“They are not playing, are they aunt, it surely sounds to me

Like they were tryin’ which could make the loudest noise,” said she.

We hed a reg’lar merry-go-round, with hosses painted bright,

With music all the time it whirled, an’ it wuz run a sight;

Guess ev’ry youngster in the town, an’ some twarn’t young no more,

Rode on it twice, ef not three times, till they wuz stiff an’ sore.

An’ then they hed a hammer there fur drivin’ up a weight,

Where you could git a good cigar ef you could fetch the plate;

But land, they hammered right an’ left, but no one fetched the mark;

I ‘lowed he hed the dial fixed, but kep’ my notions dark.

The peanut stands, an’ lemonade, my what a sight to see,

An’ sooverneers uv Gungywamp, an’ fancy fillergree,

Bige Miller hed some roosters there he said would take a prize,

An’ they wuz turkeys, ducks, an’ geese uv most uncommon size.

An’ Lize Hooker hed some cats (Eliza ne’er hez wed)

“Cats are reliable,” says she, “but menfolks – when they’re dead!”

She wrote a poem ‘bout her cats, an’ tacked it on the crate;

Next week no doubt it will appear, “writ for the Advocate”.

There wuz a lot uv tents uv course, ez there is sure to be,

But one more interestin’ than the rest, it seemed to me;

The eatin’ tent! Thet is the place where most the folks are found,

An’ where the best uv country fairs is harbored, I be bound!

They ain’t no ha’f providin’ fur a Gungy county fair,

The meals the ladies furnish they are plenteous an’ square.

An’ ef you wanter find a friend thet’s lost, don’t hunt afar,

You’ll find him in the eatin’ tent where all the goodies are.

The concert by the Gungy band wuz much to be desired,

Becuz the players, to a man, they seemed to be inspired;

An’ in their brand new unerforms they wuz a pleasin’ sight,

An’ ev’ry member hed his horn jest polished good an’ bright.

But after all is said an’ done, the crown uv all event

Warn’t on the flyin’ hosses nor twarn’t in the eatin’ tent;

The star performunce uv the day wuz yonder in the lot

When Zeb Hawkins rung the bell to hev the hosses trot.

Ham Streeter hed a two-year-old he said could lick the town,

An’ Ezra Watson took him up an’ laid ten dollars down.

An’ so they wuz to try it out, an’ try it out they did,

An’ Gungy saw the greatest race her jockeys ever rid.

There wuz some people there who said they’d never seen a race

An’ ‘lowed that sech a thing would bring upon the fair disgrace;

But when the hosses got away they wuz the first to shout,

An’ flung their hats an’ danced around the most excited out.

Fust Ham he led the Watson nag, then Watson took the lead,

An’ Ham he licked his two-year-old to emphasize his speed;

The two-year-old he made a jump, an’ Ham went over back

A sprawlin’ mess uv mad an’ dirt upon the Gungy track.

Ez Watson then he won the race, an’ Ham wuz fightin’ mad,

An’ said he’d sell the gol durn hoss the quickest chance he had.

An’ thet wound up the Gungy fair, surpassin’ them uv yore,

An’ fur a week it’s been the theme in Stokes’ grocery store.

“Buy a balloon sir,

     Jest fur the kid;

Ma’m, tell your fortune?

     Mysteries hid.

African dodger

     Three shots fur five!

Here’s your hot frankfurts,

     Eat ‘em alive!”

Sept. 8, 1911