Jest Fore Christmas

Jest Fore Christmas :




Father calls me William,

sister calls me Will,

Mother calls me Willie,

but the fellers call me Bill!

Mighty glad I ain't a girl

ruther be a boy,

Without them sashes, curls,

an' things that 's worn by Fauntleroy!

Love to chawnk green apples

an' go swimmin' in the lake

Hate to take the castor-ile

they give for bellyache!

Most all the time, the whole year round,

there ain't no flies on me,

But jest 'fore Christmas

I'm as good as I kin be!



Got a yeller dog named Sport,

sick him on the cat;

First thing she knows

she doesn't know where she is at!

Got a clipper sled,

an' when us kids goes out to slide,

Long comes the grocery cart,

an' we all hook a ride!

But sometimes when the grocery man

is worrited an' cross,

He reaches at us with his whip,

an' larrups up his hoss,

An' then I laff an' holler,

Oh, ye never teched me!

But jest 'fore Christmas

I'm as good as I kin be!



Gran'ma says she hopes

that when I git to be a man,

I'll be a missionarer

like her oldest brother, Dan,

As was et up by the cannibuls

that lives in Ceylon's Isle,

Where every prospeck pleases,

an' only man is vile!

But gran'ma she has never been

to see a Wild West show,

Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone,

or else I guess she'd know

That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys

is good enough for me!

Excep' jest 'fore Christmas,

when I'm good as I kin be!



And then old Sport he hangs around,

so solemnlike an' still,

His eyes they seem a-sayin':

What's the matter, little Bill?

The old cat sneaks down off her perch

an' wonders what's become

Of them two enemies of hern

that used to make things hum!

But I am so perlite

an' tend so earnestly to biz,

That mother says to father:

How improved our Willie is!

But father, havin'

been a boy hisself, suspicions me

When, jest 'fore Christmas,

I'm as good as I kin be!



For Christmas, with its lots an' lots

of candies, cakes, an' toys,

Was made, they say, for proper kids

an' not for naughty boys;

So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair,

an' mind yer p's and q's,

An' don't bust out yer pantaloons,

and don't wear out yer shoes;

Say 'Yessum' to the ladies,

and 'Yessur' to the men,

An' when they's company,

don't pass yer plate for pie again;

But, thinkin' of the things

yer'd like to see upon that tree,

Jest 'fore Christmas

be as good as yer kin be!



















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