Classic Poem

An ' once there was Anaughty boy,
Who would n't tell his ma;
For he was mostly all alloy,
But he would n't tell his ma.
He caught a bumblebee one day, —
For more 'n a week he could n't play,
Because he did n't feel " O. K. "
But he would n't tell his ma.

An' once he got the chicken-pox,
But he would n't tell his ma;
He feared they'd put him in a box,
But he would n't tell his ma.
He'd go to bed away up-stairs,
An' would n't say his little prayers,
Essept when he was 'fraid o' bears,
But he would n't tell his ma.

Was allers gittin' boils an' bumps,
But he would n't tell his ma;
He had the measles an' the mumps,
But he would n't tell his ma.
An' slidin' down the cellar door,
He got his little bloomers tore,
An' picked up splinters by the score,
But he would n't tell his ma.

An' once he stoled his mother's horse,
But he would n't tell his ma;
An' he got kicked full of remorse,
But he would n't tell his ma.
An' once he smoked a cigarette, —
The doctor wondered what he 'd e't,
Till he throw'd up his alphabet,
But he would n't tell his ma.

When he grow'd up he kissed a gal,
But he would n't tell his ma;
Because it wa' n't reciprocal,
But he would n't tell his ma.
He allers thought 'at she 'd elope,
It filled him full o' joy an' hope,
But when he ask'd her, she said: " Nope! "
But he would n't tell his ma.

An' then he grew so drefful old,
But he would n't tell his ma;
An' died o' microbes, I am told,
But he would n't tell his ma.
He went to heaven, an' was, no doubt,
Ejected, feelin' much put out,
Went where they're troubled with the drought,
An' he could n't tell his ma.