CHARMS
Prune your corn in the gray of the mornWith a blade that’s shaved the dead,And barefoot go and hide it soThe rain will rust it red:Dip your foot in the dew and putA print of it on the floor,And stew the fat of a brindle cat,And say this o’er and o’er:—Corny! morny! blady! dead!Gory! sory! rusty! red!Footsy! putsy! floory! stew!Fatsy! catsy!Mew!Mew!Come grease my cornIn the gray of the morn!Mew! Mew! Mew!
Prune your corn in the gray of the mornWith a blade that’s shaved the dead,And barefoot go and hide it soThe rain will rust it red:Dip your foot in the dew and putA print of it on the floor,And stew the fat of a brindle cat,And say this o’er and o’er:—Corny! morny! blady! dead!Gory! sory! rusty! red!Footsy! putsy! floory! stew!Fatsy! catsy!Mew!Mew!Come grease my cornIn the gray of the morn!Mew! Mew! Mew!
Prune your corn in the gray of the mornWith a blade that’s shaved the dead,And barefoot go and hide it soThe rain will rust it red:Dip your foot in the dew and putA print of it on the floor,And stew the fat of a brindle cat,And say this o’er and o’er:—Corny! morny! blady! dead!Gory! sory! rusty! red!Footsy! putsy! floory! stew!Fatsy! catsy!Mew!Mew!Come grease my cornIn the gray of the morn!Mew! Mew! Mew!
Prune your corn in the gray of the morn
With a blade that’s shaved the dead,
And barefoot go and hide it so
The rain will rust it red:
Dip your foot in the dew and put
A print of it on the floor,
And stew the fat of a brindle cat,
And say this o’er and o’er:—
Corny! morny! blady! dead!
Gory! sory! rusty! red!
Footsy! putsy! floory! stew!
Fatsy! catsy!
Mew!
Mew!
Come grease my corn
In the gray of the morn!
Mew! Mew! Mew!
Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’;Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ kenWha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,—Wi’ the ither han’ sae readWha’s neist neebor o’ the deid;An it be or wife or lass,Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass,Weshin’ either wi’ the ither,Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither;Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw—Ilka freeckle’s gang awa!
Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’;Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ kenWha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,—Wi’ the ither han’ sae readWha’s neist neebor o’ the deid;An it be or wife or lass,Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass,Weshin’ either wi’ the ither,Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither;Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw—Ilka freeckle’s gang awa!
Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’;Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ kenWha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,—Wi’ the ither han’ sae readWha’s neist neebor o’ the deid;An it be or wife or lass,Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass,Weshin’ either wi’ the ither,Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither;Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw—Ilka freeckle’s gang awa!
Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’
’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’;
Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ ken
Wha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,—
Wi’ the ither han’ sae read
Wha’s neist neebor o’ the deid;
An it be or wife or lass,
Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass,
Weshin’ either wi’ the ither,
Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither;
Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw—
Ilka freeckle’s gang awa!