"I'll tell yer what," said Uncle Zeke, down at the country store,
"I'd been a farmer all my life--fur twenty year or more--
Until one day my noddle here, it got plumb out o' fix,
Er-swellin' with the idy that I's made fur politicks.
"I'd been ter hear them fellers speak, an' rip an' rant an' rave,
When 'lection time's er-comin' on, who tell yer how ter save
Ther kentry frum tarnation ruin, by sendin' only men
That's fit ter draw ther salaries, an' honest--jest like them.
"So listen, boys--yer'll profit by ther story that I tell--
I left ther farm ter 'lectioneer an' run fur constable;
I wouldn't hearken ter my wife--she said I'd lost my wit,
An' as fur holdin' offices--she knowed I wusn't fit.
"But ennyhow, I sold er steer, an' then er heifer calf,
An' bought er bran' new suit o' clothes fur twenty an' er half,
An' 'fore ther 'lection day cum roun' I'd sold my wheat an' oats,
An' spent ther proceeds that I got in purchasin' uv votes.
"I knowed 'twus wrong--agin ther law--ter do er thing like that--
But then ther boys all said, yer know, 'twould take er little 'fat,'
Fur ther feller that I run agin could have no earthly hope
Uv beatin' me if I'd use ther right amount uv 'soap.'
"I jocks I did--I won ther fight--I sarved er single term--
(But fur ther salary that I got I wouldn't give er durn);
An' right up here I wear ther scar that shows whar I wus hit
Ther day I rid fur forty miles ter sarve that cussed 'writ!'"