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James Whitcomb Riley - Down On Wriggle Crick
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"Best time to kill a hog`s when he`s fat." --Old Saw.

Mostly folks is law-abidin`
Down on Wriggle Crick--,
Seein` they`s no Squire residin`
In our bailywick;
No grand juries, no suppeenies,
Ner no vested rights to pick
Out yer man, jerk up and jail ef
He`s outragin` Wriggle Crick!


Wriggle Crick hain`t got no lawin`,
Ner no suits to beat;
Ner no court-house gee-and-hawin`
Like a County-seat;
Hain`t no waitin` round fer verdick,
Ner non-gittin` witness-fees;
Ner no thiefs `at gits "new heain`s,"
By some lawyer slick as grease!

Wriggle Cricks`s leadin` spirit
Is old Johnts Culwell--,
Keeps post-office, and right near it
Owns what`s called "The Grand Hotel--"
(Warehouse now--) buys wheat and ships it;
Gits out ties, and trades in stock,
And knows all the high-toned drummers
`Twixt South Bend and Mishawauk`

Last year comes along a feller--
Sharper `an a lance--
Stovepipe-hat and silk umbreller,
And a boughten all-wool pants--,
Tinkerin of clocks and watches:
Says a trial`s all he wants--
And rents out the tavern-office
Next to Uncle Johnts.

Well--. He tacked up his k`dentials,
And got down to biz--.
Captured Johnts by cuttin` stenchils
Fer them old wheat-sacks o` his--.

Fixed his clock, in the post-office--
Painted fer him, clean and slick,
`Crost his safe, in gold-leaf letters,
"J. Culwells`s Wriggle Crick."

Any kindo` job you keered to
Resk him with, and bring,
He`d fix fer you-- jest appeared to
Turn his hand to anything--!
Rings, er earbobs, er umbrellers--
Glue a cheer er chany doll--,
W`y, of all the beatin` fellers,
He Jest beat `em all!

Made his friends, but wouldn`t stop there--,
One mistake he learnt,
That was, sleepin` in his shop there--.
And one Sund`y night it burnt!
Come in one o` jest a-sweepin`
All the whole town high and dry--
And that feller, when they waked him,
Suffocatin`, mighty nigh!

Johnts he drug him from the buildin`,
He`pless-- `peared to be--,
And the women and the childern
Drenchin` him with sympathy!
But I noticed Johnts helt on him
With a` extry lovin` grip,
And the men-folks gethered round him
In most warmest pardership!

That`s the whole mess, grease-and-dopin`!
Johnt`s safe was saved--,
But the lock was found sprung open,
And the inside caved.
Was no trial-- ner no jury--
Ner no jedge ner court-house-click--.
Circumstances alters cases
Down on Wriggle Crick!
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