Pore-folks lives at Lonesomeville—
Lawzy! but they’re pore!
Houses with no winders in,
And hardly any door:
Chimbly all tore down, and no
Smoke in that at all—
Ist a stovepipe through a hole
In the kitchen-wall!
Pump ’at’s got no handle on;
And no woodshed—And, wooh!—
Mighty cold there, choppin’ wood,
Like pore-folks has to do!—
Winter-time, and snow and sleet
Ist fairly fit to kill!—
Hope to goodness Santy Claus
Goes to Lonesomeville!