Classic Poem

I sprang from a cellar, we all sprang from earth,
Fal de ral, &c.,
Then why should we kick up a dust about birth?
Fal de ral, &c.,
Since upstarts can never their ancestors choose,
An emperor's sire may, like mine, have blacked shoes.
Fal de ral, &c.

Oh! when I was christened, my father did say,
Fal de ral, &c.,
“I'm resolved to get drunk, and black nothing to-day.”
Fal de ral, &c.
My mother agreed, down to dinner they sat,
And he gave her two eyes just as black as my hat,
Fal de ral, &c.

My father he forced me his trade to pursue,
Fal de ral, &c.,
And leathered me daily to clean boot and shoe:
Fal de ral, &c.
“To leather myself, now,” says I, “the time suits;”
So I hopped off one day in a new pair of boots.
Fal de ral, &c.