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BLUE GRASS BALLADS |
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Then Widder Kane got married, an' we raised a shivaree—
But didn't we get licked for that, Old Mart and me!
When finally the war broke loose, an' Mart an' me went in,
One time we struck a scrimmage that was livelier en sin;
We had it, back an' forrards, twict, acrost a cotton patch—
You never seed, in all yo' life, a hotter shootin' match—
I got a plug clean th'oo my leg, an' him one in the knee,
So, we got sorter licked at that Old Mart and me.
We've had some ups and downs in life, and
growin' kinder old, With hearts as warm as ever, an' they never will
get cold. So fur as him an' me's consarned; not even
over thar, When all are called to answer at the final jedg-
ment bar, For friendship's close to holiness, and blamed
ef I can see,
How we'll get licked a bit for that, Old Mart an' me. |
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