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'Twas jes' at dark on Friday last
I see her go a-ridin' past
With that there survey outfit scrub,
That sickly-lookin' four-eyed dub
What Uncle Sam has sent out here
To drift around an' interfere
With other folks* affairs an' such—
She needn't think that he's so much!
He'll keep a-triflin' 'round, he will,
Until some one will sort o' fill
His tender hide plum' full o' lead—
Some folks look better when they's dead.