A Yankee

I’m a yankee, I’m a yankee,

                   I am orkud, lean an’ lanky,

I wuz born down in Connettycut some twenty year ago;

                   They is hayseed in my whiskers,

                   Which are red, an’ grow promiskers.

While my face is freckuled over ‘ith a million spots er so.

                   I wuz raised on hasty puddin’,

                   Used a dish an’ spoon ‘twuz wooden.

Had ter help ter dig portaters, an’ went fishin’ when it rained;

                   An’ my days uv useful schoolin’,

                   They wuz spent in tricks an’ foolin’,

An’ my nights in melon patches, ef I knowed the dorg wuz chained.

                   O, my life wuz full uv trouble,

                   An’ my feet wuz full uv stubble,

An’ my pockets full uv trinkets ‘at wuz wuth ‘eir weight in gol’;

                   An’ my pants wuz full uv patches,

                   An’ my laigs wuz full uv scratches,

An’ my belly full uv cider w’en the mill begun tur roll.

O, them days uv chasin’ suckers,

Up the brook past Deacon Tuckers,

O, them days uv goin’ swimmin’, an’ uv settin’ rabbit traps;

                   O, them slidin’ days in winters,

                   With the sled-seat full uv splinters,

An’ the ketchin’ uv a raccoon in a figger-four (per’aps).

I’m a yankee, I’m a yankee,

                   I am orkud, lean an’ lanky,

They is hayseed in my whiskers, but I’ll bet yeur six tur three;

                   Thet I’ve hed more ri’ down pleasure,

In my little life’s peck measure,

Than any starched up shaver ‘at the city ever see.

Oct. 27, 1894

Pub. in Boston Courier,

   Dec. 23, ‘94

                   (as published)