James Whitcomb Riley - This Man Jones lyrics

This man Jones was what you'd call A feller 'at had no sand at all; Kind o' consumpted, and undersize, And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes, And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style, And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile 'At kind o' give him away to us As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss. Didn't take with the gang--well, no-- But still we managed to use him, though,-- Coddin' the gilly along the rout', And drivin' the stakes 'at he pulled out-- Far I was one of the bosses then, And of course stood in with the canvasmen; And the way we put up jobs, you know, On this man Jones jes' beat the show! Ust to rattle him scandalous, And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, And a-shyin' round half skeered to d**h, And afeerd to whimper above his breath; Give him a cussin', and then a kick, And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick-- Jes' far the fun of seem' him climb Around with a head on most the time. But what was the curioust thing to me, Was along o' the party--let me see,-- Who was our "Lion Queen" last year?-- Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre?-- Well, no matter--a stunnin' mash, With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, And a figger sich as the angels owns-- And one too many far this man Jones. He'd allus wake in the afternoon, As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, And there, from the time 'at she'd go in Till she'd back out of the cage agin, He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed-- 'Specially when she come to "feed The beasts raw meat with her naked hand"-- And all that business, you understand. And it _was_ resky in that den-- Far I think she juggled three cubs then, And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash Collar-bones far old Frank Nash; And I reckon now she hain't fergot The afternoon old "Nero" sot His paws on _her_!--but as far me, It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery:-- Kind o' remember an awful roar, And see her back far the bolted door-- See the cage rock--heerd her call "God have mercy!" and that was all-- Far they ain't no livin' man can tell _What_ it's like when a thousand yell In female tones, and a thousand more Howl in ba** till their throats is sore! But the keeper said 'at dragged her out, They heerd some feller laugh and shout-- "Save her! Quick! I've got the cuss!" And yit she waked and smiled on _us!_ And we daren't flinch, far the doctor said, Seein' as this man Jones was dead, Better to jes' not let her know Nothin' o' that far a week er so.