An' Billy out at Kirkersville,
An' Jim--who has a notion
That Hackleyburg's the very place
Fer which his soul has striven;
They're all a-comin' home ag'in--
All comin' home Thanksgivin'.

Yes--yes! They're all a-comin' back;
There ain't no ifs n'r maybes.
The boys'll fetch the'r wives an' kids;
The gals, th'r men an' babies.
The ol' place will be upside-down;
An' me an' Mammy driven
To roost out in the locus' trees--
When they come home Thanksgivin'.

Fer Mary she has three 'r four
Mis_chee_vous little tykes, sir,
An' Sally has a houseful more--
You never seen the like, sir;
While Jim has six, an' Billy eight--
They'll tear the house to flinders,
An' dig the cellar out in chunks
An' pitch it through the winders.

The gals 'll tag me to the barn;
An' climb the mows, an' waller
All over ev'ry ton o' hay--
An' laugh an' scream an' holler.
The boys 'll git in this an' that;