Father
calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother
calls
me
Willie, but the fellers
call
me Bill!
Mighty
glad I ain't a girl - ruther be
a boy,
Without
them sashes, curls, an' things
that's
worn by Fauntleroy!
Love
to chawnk
green
apples
an'
go swimmin' in the lake -
Hate
to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most
all the time, the whole
year
round, there ain't
no flies
on
me,
But
jest 'fore Christmas
I'm
as good as I kin be!
Got
a yeller dog
named
Sport,
sick him on the cat;
First
thing she
knows she
doesn't know where
she
is at!
Got
a clipper
sled,
an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long
comes
the
grocery
cart,
an' we all hook a ride!
But
sometimes
when
the grocery
man
is worrited
an'
cross,
He
reaches
at
us with his whip, an' larrups
up
his hoss,
An'
then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never
teched
me!"
But
jest 'fore Christmas
I'm
as good as I kin be!
Gran'ma
says she hopes
that
when I git to be a man,
I'll
be a missionarer
like
her oldest
brother,
Dan,
As
was et up by the cannibuls
that
lives
in
Ceylon's Isle,
Where
every
prospeck
pleases, an' only man is vile!
But
gran'ma she has never
been
to see a Wild West show,
Nor
read the Life of Daniel
Boone,
or else I guess
she'd
know
That
Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough
for
me!
Excep'
jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!
And
then old Sport
he
hangs
around,
so solemn-like an' still,
His
eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The
old cat sneaks
down
off her perch
an'
wonders
what's
become
Of
them two enemies
of
hern that used to make things
hum!
But
I am so perlite
an'
'tend so earnestly
to
biz,
That
mother
says
to father: "How improved
our
Willie
is!"
But
father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When,
jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!
For
Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was
made, they say, for proper
kids
an' not for naughty
boys;
So
wash yer face an' bresh yer
hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,
An'
don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;
Say
"Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the
men,
An'
when they's company, don't pass yer plate
for
pie again;
But,
thinkin' of the things
yer'd
like to see upon that tree,
Jest
'fore Christmas
be
as good as yer kin be!
Eugene Field
Born September 3' 1850
Died November 4, 1895
