Let your poets keep a-singing about the Springtime gay,

And the blossoms and the flowers in the merry month of May—

But the early Autumn splendor, with its sweet September days,

Eclipses boasted Springtime in a thousand kind of ways!

[Pg 13]

[Pg 13]

YER OLD COB PIPE.

When the chilling winds of Winter come a-knocking at the door,

And the fleecy flakes are flying and the earth is covered o'er,

And you've supped on sweet potatoes and a 'possum frosted ripe,

Then glory hallelujah! Git yer

Old

Cob

Pipe!

When the fire is blazing brightly and the room is snug and warm,

And you've left your cares and troubles on the outside with the storm,

And your natural leaf is colored with a golden yellow stripe,

Then glory hallelujah! Git yer

Old

Cob

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