12
More easy a town that was there,
But the old Yankee bill
Has one house on it still,
And that seems to have gone through the war,
For some two years ago
With a lot of poor guano,
I traded for this turpentine a lot,
And stored it in this house
As snug as any mouse,
A devil of turpentine I’ve got;
But the Yankee ghost
Shall pay me the cost
For so much spirits lost,
Or may their souls in purgatory rot;
I then went to Gouch’s store
To look around no more,
But pay up my score of letters,
He bid me to come,
Make myself at home,
And think no more of the bill or its fetters;
Perhaps some cosy friend,
Will allow this “amend,”
When we meet and I tell him the why
My last letter contain
So much wind and rain,
’Twas raining and there was no sky;
At nine I went to bed,
Slept as sound as if were dead,
Got up at five in the morning,
Used crash and ablution,
For ten years my notion,
