The Waggoner

When I comes to town with a load of hay,
Mean and lowly though I seem,
I knows pretty well how they figure away,
While I whistles and drives my team;
Your natty sparks and flashy dames,
How I do love to queer,
I run my jigs, my patters and gigs,
And plays a hundred comical games,
To all that I comes near;
Then in a pet, to hear them fret,
A mobbing away they go,
The scoundrel deserves to be horsewhipt!
Who, me madam ? wo Ball, wo!
So to mind them I ne?er seem.
But whistles, whistles, whistles and drives my team.

So as I seems thinking of nothing at all,
And driving as fast as I can.
I pins a queer thing against the wall,
Half a monkey, and half a man!
The mob comes round him to put up his blood,
While he?s trembling from top to toe,
My whip it goes smank, I tips Ball on the flank,
Ball plunges, and paints him all over with mud,
Queers his stockings, and spoils the beau!
Then the sweet pretty dear,
Ah ! could you but hear,
Odds curse you, I?ll make you know,
You infernal villain!
Lord bless your baby face ! I would not hurt your spindle shanks for the world,
Wo Ball, wo!
So to mind ?em a ne?er seem, &c.

And so I gets the finest fun,
And frisks that ever you saw,
Of all I meets I can queer every one,
But your gemmen of the law,
Tho? they can scarcely put me down,
Says I, to their courts whom I?m lads,
Where their tails of a pig,
They hide with a whig.
How many ways in London town,
They dresses a calf?s head;
Then every dance do hear open at once,
Like mill-claps their clappers go,
O that?s the fellow I saw him grinning thro? the horse?s collar in the country,
I fancy your fellow I saw grinning thro? the pillory in London,
Wo Ball, wo!
So to mind ?em I ne?er seem, &c.

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