The folks at my house half the time are thinkin' about dirt; It sort of gives 'em horrors, an' they act as if it hurt. The sight of just a little makes 'em daffy as can be— They're always washin' sumthin', an' half the time it's me. It ain't because I wet my feet that gives me colds an' such; 'Tain't runnin' round that keeps me thin—it's 'cause I'm washed so much. It does no good to tell 'em, they're so stubburn. But I hope That some day they'll discover what deceitful stuff is soap. I tell you, very often when my hands was clean and white I've gone along to wash 'em, 'cause it did no good to fight. When I've stuck 'em in the basin it was plain enough to see The soap would make the water as dirty as could be. If folks would give me half a chance, with soap that didn't cheat, I guess they'd be surprised to find I'm nachurally neat. I'd take on flesh and leave off havin' colds an' such, I know,— An' no one could complain about the parts of me that show. |