Only page of title Easy
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Old John Clevenger lets on,
Allus, like he's purty rough
Timber. -- He's a grate old John! --
"Rough? " -- don't swaller no sich stuff!
Moved here, sence the war was through,
From Ohio -- somers near
Old Bucyrus, -- loyal, too,
As us "Hoosiers" is to _here_!
Git old John stirred up a bit
On his old home stompin'-ground --
Talks same as he lived thare yit,
When some subject brings it round --
Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last,
Fetched his wife, and et and stayed
All night with us. -- Set and gassed
Tel plum midnight -- 'cause I made
Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and
"What was buckeyes good fer? " -- So,
Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand
And lit in and let me know: --
"What is Buckeyes good fer? ' -- What's
_Pineys_ and _fergitmenots_? --
Honeysuckles, and sweet peas. And sweet-williamsuz, and these
Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare,
Growin' round the roots o' trees
In Spring-weather? -- what air _they_
Good fer? -- kin you tell me -- _Hey? _
'Good to look at? ' Well they air!
'Specially when _Winter's_ gone,
Clean _dead-certin! _ and the wood's
Green again, and sun feels good's
June! -- and shed your blame boots on
The back porch, and lit out to
Roam round like you ust to do,
Bare-foot, up and down the crick,
Whare the buckeyes growed so thick,
And witch-hazel and pop-paws,
And hackberries and black-haws --
With wild pizen-vines jis knit
_Over_ and _en-nunder_ it. And wove round it all, I jing!
Tel you couldn't hardly stick
A durn _caseknife_ through the thing!
Wriggle round through _that_; and then --
All het-up, and scratched and tanned,
And muskeeter-bit and mean-
Feelin' -- all at onc't again,
Come out suddent on a clean
Slopin' little hump o' green
Dry soft grass, as fine and grand
As a pollor-sofy! -- And
Jis pile down thare! -- and tell _me_
_Anywhares_ you'd ruther be --
'Ceptin' _right thare_, with the wild-
Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes
Smilin' with 'em at the skies,
Happy as a little child!
Well! -- right here, _I_ want to say,
Poets kin talk all they please
'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,'
And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr
Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze' --
But the sight o' _buckeyes_ jis
Sweet to me as _blossoms_ is! "I'm _Ohio-born_ -- right whare
People's _all_ called 'Buckeyes' _thare_ --
'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's
Biggest in the world, perhaps! --
Ner my head don't stretch my hat
Too much on account o' _that_! --
'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand
Sows 'em broadcast ore the land,
With eye-single fer man's good
And the gineral neghborhood!
So _buckeyes_ jis natchurly
'Pears like _kith-and-kin_ to _me_!
'Slike the good old sayin' wuz,
'Purty _is_ as purty _does_! ' --
We can't eat 'em, cookd er raw --
Yit, I mind, _tomattusuz_
Wuz considerd pizenus
_Onc't_ -- and dasent eat 'em! -- _Pshaw_ --
'Twouldn't take _me_ by supprise,
Someday, ef we et _buckeyes_!
That, though, 's nuther here ner thare! --
_Jis the Buckeye_ whare we air,
In the present times, is what
Ockuppies my lovin' care
And my most perfoundest thought!
. Guess, this minute, what I got
In my pocket, 'at I've packed
Purt'-nigh forty year. ". Ketched more _rhumatiz_ than _fish_,
Seinen', onc't -- and pants froze on
My blame legs! -- And ust to wish
I wuz well er _dead and gone_!
Doc give up the case, and shod
His old boss again and stayed
On good roads! -- _And thare I laid! _
Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod
Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot,
And socked _that_ on! Then I got
Sorto' holt o' him, _somehow_ --
Kindo' crazy-like, they say --
And I'd _killed_ him, like as not,
Ef I hadn't swooned away!
_Smell my scortcht pelt purt'-nigh now! _
Well -- to make a long tale short --
I hung on the blame disease
Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort
O' wore it out by slow degrees --
Tel my legs wuz straight enugh
To poke through my pants again
And kick all the doctor-stuff
In the fi-er-place! Then turned in
And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore --
_Jis a buckeye_ -- and that's _shore_. --
Hain't no case o' rhumatiz
Kin subsist whare buckeyes is! " End of title
