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Eugene Field - Jest `Fore Christmas
Work rating: Medium

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 bellyache!
`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, sick 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 cannibuls that lives 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` cow-boys is good enough for me!
Excep` jest `fore Christmas, when I`m 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,
An` don`t bust out yer pantaloons, and don`t wear out yer shoes;
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an` "Yessur" to the men,
An` when they`s company, don`t 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!
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