Down on the Farm

Life on the Farm

By Henry M. Lorang



Down on the farm, about half-past four

I put on my pants, and sneak out the door,

Out through the yard, I run like the dickens,

Milk the cow and fee all the chickens.

I clean out the barn, curry Prince and Jiggs,

Separate the cream and slop all the pigs.



Work about two hours, then eat like a Turk,

Then by Heck, I’m ready for a day’s work.

So I grease up the wagon and put on the rack,

Throw a jug of water in an old grain sack,

Hitch up the horses and hurry down the lane,

Must get the hay in, ‘cause it looks like rain.



Look over yonder, sure as I’m born,

Cattle on the rampage, cows in the corn,

Start across the meadow, run a mile or two,

Heaving like a windbroke, wet all through.

Get back to the wagon, then for recompense,

Prince gets straddled in the barbed wire fence.



Bones all aching, muscles in a jerk,

I’m as fit as a fiddle for a full day’s work.

Crops all in, and winter is nigh,

Check up the books and heave a big sigh.

Worked all season, didn’t make a thing.

Got less cash than I had last spring.



Some people say there ain’t no Hell,

But they never farmed, so they can’t tell.

But a spring rolls ‘round, I take another chance,

As the fringe grows longer on my old blue pants,

So I give my suspenders another big jerk,

And by Heck, I’m ready for a full day’s work.