Foot-Ball in Casey's Back Yard.
Copyright, 1895, by Spaulding A Gray.
Words and Music by J. W. Wheeler.
'Twas past two o'clock in the morning.
And the streets were deserted And still,
When Casey was having a party
Right down at the foot of the hill;
The neighbors awoke from their slumbers.
For the noise came so fierce and so hard,
And, raising their windows, discovered
It was foot-ball in Casey's back yard.
You never beheld such a circus,
The struggling was fearful and hard,
And O'Hara got hit with the "pig-skin,"
Playing foot-ball in Casey's back yard.
You'd thought a small earthquake was raging,
There was not a police to be found;
We thought they were killing poor Bogan,
The way he was clawing the ground;
Nobody seemed anxious to stop them,
Or to send their name in on a card.
For Dempsey was having the jim-jams
At the game down In Casey's back yard.
We couldn't get in a word edge-wise,
They bellowed so loud and so hard,
But we saw no one getting a "touch down,"
As we peeped into Casey's back yard.
The game now was more than exciting.
And the neighbors jumped over the fence;
They scrambled around for the "pig-skin,"
Which made matters still more intense,
But, all of a sudden, we noticed
Casey's goal breaking loose from the poet.
And the way he came over the railing,
Would have frightened the life of a ghost.
The way he flew 'round was a caution,
You'd sworn he was greased with cold lard,
And they thought that chain lightning had struck them,
As be skipped around Casey's back yard.
We swept up the whiskers and noses,
And we laid them away in a box;
We found Dempsey minus a finger,
And Hogan, those beautiful locks;
The game had been simply terrific,
And the struggle was frightful and hard,
But the "billy goat" swallowed the "pig akin,"
Playing foot-bail in Casey's back yard.
The crowd spied a "cop" 'round the corner,
Who slowly was heaving in sight.
But Casey, be filled him with whiskey,
And he slept there the rest of the night