THE WEES REPLY.
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THE WIPES REPLY. Oh, his face is as red as the dog-day sun In misty sunset sky And the tip of his nose is burning coal, You might light your candle by. His eyes were gouged by two quart jug That cracked across his nose And his other has taken rainbow hue From his pot companions blows. He blundered against the red hot grate, And the grate returned the blow And the lamp that singed his grisly beard Was the Lehigh coal below. I've emptied his bottles of liquor free As the flow of autumn rain And the sheriff will come, and the tailor too, fine fills them up again. He has lost his scalp, he has lost his eye, And his face is grim with blows And the early light of our love has changed To the light of tippler's nose.