I've clean fergot my rheumatiz--
Hain't nary limp n'r hobble;
I'm feelin' like a turkey-cock--
An' ready 'most to gobble;
I'm workin' spry, an' steppin' high--
An' thinkin' life worth livin'.
Fer all the children's comin' home
All comin' home Thanksgivin'.
There's Mary up at Darby Town,
An' Sally down at Goshen,
An' Billy out at Kirkersville,
An' Jim--who has a notion
That Hackleyburg's the very place
Fer which his soul has striven;
They're all a-comin' home ag'in--
All comin' home Thanksgivin'.
Yes--yes! They're all a-comin' back;
There ain't no ifs n'r maybes.
The boys'll fetch the'r wives an' kids;
The gals, th'r men an' babies.
The ol' place will be upside-down;
An' me an' Mammy driven
To roost out in the locus' trees--
When they come home Thanksgivin'.
Fer Mary she has three 'r four
Mis_chee_vous little tykes, sir,
An' Sally has a houseful more--
You never seen the like, sir;
While Jim has six, an' Billy eight--
They'll tear the house to flinders,
An' dig the cellar out in chunks
An' pitch it through the winders.
The gals 'll tag me to the barn;
An' climb the mows, an' waller
All over ev'ry ton o' hay--
An' laugh an' scream an' holler.
The boys 'll git in this an' that;
An' git a lickin'--p'r'aps, sir--
Jest like the'r daddies used to git
When _they_ was little chaps, sir.
But--lawzee-me!--w'y, I won't care.
I'm jest so glad they're comin',
I have to whistle to the tune
That my ol' heart's a-hummin'.
An' me an' Mammy--well, we think
It's good to be a-livin',
Sence all the children's comin' home
To spend the day Thanksgivin'.