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
belly-ache!
'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,
sic 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 cannibals that live 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' cowboys is good enough for
me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm as 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,
And don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't
wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur"
to the men,
An' when they's company, don'a 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 (1850-1895)
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