<A name=poem8>Down Thar in Arkansaw</A>
You all up thar in Yankee land,
ole appleman and folks,
Do seem to have a heap o’ fun
A crackin’ of yer jokes;
And tryin’ hard to find some fault,
Or pick a leetle flaw
About our gals a usin’ snuff,
And, the hogs, in Arkansaw.
What if they are rather slim
And sometimes purty shy?
They have to climb ’round o’er the hills
And, roothog, thar, or die.
What if the gals thar do take snuff,
And sometimes take a chaw?
Thar’s gals inYankee landjust as tough
As them in Arkansaw.
I “seed” a gal in meetin’ once
A floppin’ of her jaw
As hard as any gal I ever seed
Down thar in Arkansaw.
The preacher made this sly remark;
“Thar ain’t no gum in...” Well,
I won’t say whar; If you can’t guess
Get someone else to tell.
Now I ain’t boomin’ Arkansaw
And callin’ it Paradise,
But think the site is purty fair,
And the climate mighty nice.
And you kin chaw gum all you please
And exercise your jaw,
For sweet gum grows on big tall trees
Down thar in Arkansaw.
Up thar sometimes that comes along,
Them shriekin’ howlin’ blizzards
That chills the marrer in yer bones
And penetrates yer gizzard;
Then if you hunt a warmer clime
To find a place to thaw,
And limber up you fris up joints,
Come down to Arkansaw.
And when you get all kivered o’er
With mud from heel to jaw,
Jist pack yer grip and pull yer freight
To southwest Arkansaw.
Whar sandy silt precludes the mud
And snows skeerce ever fall;
Whar boltin’ winds and ragin’ storms
Are checked by forests tall.
Good land’s cheap in Arkansaw
As any place that’s known,
And a lot ofYankee renters
Could make good homes of their own
And set beneath their own grape vine
And peach tree’s coolin’ shade,
Whar the landlord couldn’t fire ’em
Nor the sheriff make afraid.
You all up thar in Yankee land,
ole appleman and folks,
Do seem to have a heap o’ fun
A crackin’ of yer jokes;
And tryin’ hard to find some fault,
Or pick a leetle flaw
About our gals a usin’ snuff,
And, the hogs, in Arkansaw.
What if they are rather slim
And sometimes purty shy?
They have to climb ’round o’er the hills
And, roothog, thar, or die.
What if the gals thar do take snuff,
And sometimes take a chaw?
Thar’s gals inYankee landjust as tough
As them in Arkansaw.
I “seed” a gal in meetin’ once
A floppin’ of her jaw
As hard as any gal I ever seed
Down thar in Arkansaw.
The preacher made this sly remark;
“Thar ain’t no gum in...” Well,
I won’t say whar; If you can’t guess
Get someone else to tell.
Now I ain’t boomin’ Arkansaw
And callin’ it Paradise,
But think the site is purty fair,
And the climate mighty nice.
And you kin chaw gum all you please
And exercise your jaw,
For sweet gum grows on big tall trees
Down thar in Arkansaw.
Up thar sometimes that comes along,
Them shriekin’ howlin’ blizzards
That chills the marrer in yer bones
And penetrates yer gizzard;
Then if you hunt a warmer clime
To find a place to thaw,
And limber up you fris up joints,
Come down to Arkansaw.
And when you get all kivered o’er
With mud from heel to jaw,
Jist pack yer grip and pull yer freight
To southwest Arkansaw.
Whar sandy silt precludes the mud
And snows skeerce ever fall;
Whar boltin’ winds and ragin’ storms
Are checked by forests tall.
Good land’s cheap in Arkansaw
As any place that’s known,
And a lot ofYankee renters
Could make good homes of their own
And set beneath their own grape vine
And peach tree’s coolin’ shade,
Whar the landlord couldn’t fire ’em
Nor the sheriff make afraid.
