Oh! over the hill to Robbinsdale,
For a slap on the back and a hearty hail.
Where the cows do tricks in the new mown hay,
And the Bull is thrown in a very quaint way.
Where Gus is tired from morn till night,
And the old silo is always tight.
Where the chickens sing and the roosters crow,
And the corn does a hoe-down row on row.
So up the road to the Whiz Bang farm
Where the onions grow but do no harm.
It’s a merry crowd that slings the hoe
On Billy’s farm. Come gang let’s go.
* * * * *
_They tell me people are so tough in South St. Paul they play
Tiddly-Winks with the sewer covers. Zatright?_
* * * * *