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Jes' 'For Christmas

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—
Have to take the castor-ile they give f'r belly-ache!
Most all the time the hull year roun' there ain't no fliws on me.
But jes' fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yaller dog named Sport—sick 'im on the cat;
Fust thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Cot a clipper-sled, an' when us boys go out to slide
Long comes the grocery cart an' we all hook a ride!
But, sometimes, when the grocery man is worrited and cross.
He reaches at me with his whip, and larrups up his hoss;
An' then I laff and holler: "Oh, you never teched me!"
But res' 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes when I git to be a man
I'll be a missionerer like her oldes' brother Dan,
As wuz et up by the canib'ls that lives in Ceylon's isle,
Where every prospeck pleases an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she had never been to see a Wild West show,
Or read the life uv Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know
That Buffalo Bill an' cowboys is good enough f'r me—
Excep' jes' fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!

Then ol' Sport he hangs around, so solium like an' still—
His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's er matter, little Bill?"
The cat she sneaks down off her perch, a-wondenn' what's become
Uv them two enemies uv hern that used ter make things hum!
But I am so perlite and stick so earnestlike to biz,
That mother sez to father: "How improved our Willie is! "
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me,
When, jes' 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an
lots uv candies, cakes an' toys,
Wuz made, they say, f'r proper
kids, and not f'r naughty boys!
So wash yer face, and bresh yer
hair, an' mind yer p's an' q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons,
an' don't wear out yer shoes;
Say yessum to the ladies, an'
yessir to the men,
An' when they's company don't
pass yer plate f'r pie again;
But, thinkin' uv the things you'd
like to see upon that tree,
Jes' fore Christmas be as good
as vou kin be!