Thinks a boy had ought ter be
Dressed up all the time, and she
Hollers jest as if she's hurt
At the _littlest mite_ er dirt
On a feller's hands or face,
Or his clothes, or any place.

Then at dinner-time she's there,
Sayin', "Mustn't kick the chair!"
Or "Why _don't_ yer sit up straight?"
"'Tain't perlite to drum yer plate."
An' yer got ter eat as _slow_,
'Cause she's dingin' at yer so.
Then, when Chris'mus comes, she brings
Nothin', only _useful_ things:
Han'kershi'fs an' gloves an' ties,
Sunday stuff yer jest _despise_.

She's a ole maid, all alone,
'Thout no children of her own,
An' I s'pose that makes her fuss
'Round our house a-bossin' us.
If she 'd had a boy, I bet,
'Tween her bossin' and her fret
She'd a-killed him, jest about;
So God made her do without,
For he knew _no_ boy could stay
With Aunt 'Mandy _every_ day.

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