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Show The Mule. By Johnny. The mule he is a funny sight. He's made of eats and dynamite, His heels is full of bricks and springs, Tornadoes, battering lams and tilings, He's fat as any poisoned pup; It's Jest his meanness swells hlin up: He's always scheming 'round to do The things) ou most don't want him to. The mule he lives on anything; He's got a lovely voice to sing, And when he lets It loose at noon It sounds like buiz saws out of tune. Ho stands around with sleepy eye And looks as If he'd like to die, But when tlierc.s any dying done It ain't the mule I'll bet a bun. Some folks don't treat mules with rc- pect. They say they ain't got Intellect, That may be so, but If you've got To go to heaven on the spot, And want a way that doesn't fall, Just pull the tassil on his tail, The mule he tends to his own biz; He don't look loaded, but he is. George Fitch |