Jack The Giant Killer.

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

Bad Boy's Version.

Tell you a story - an' it's a fac': -
Wunst wuz a little boy, name wuz Jack,
An' he had sword an' buckle an' strap
Maked of gold, an' a "'visibul cap;"
An' he killed Gi'nts 'at et whole cows -
Th' horns an' all - an' pigs an' sows!
But Jack, his golding sword wuz, oh!
So awful sharp 'at he could go
An' cut th' ole Gi'nts clean in two
Fore 'ey knowed what he wuz goin' to do!
An' one ole Gi'nt, he had four
Heads, and name wuz "Bumblebore" -
An' he wuz feered o' Jack - 'cause he,
Jack, he killed six - five - ten - three,
An' all o' th' uther ole Gi'nts but him:
An' thay wuz a place Jack haf to swim
'Fore he could git t' ole "Bumblebore" -
Nen thay was "griffuns" at the door:
But Jack, he thist plunged in an' swum
Clean acrost; an' when he come
To th' uther side, he thist put on
His "'visibul cap," an' nen, dog-gone!
You could n't see him at all! - An' so
He slewed the "griffuns" - boff, you know!
Nen wuz a horn hunged over his head
High on th' wall, an' words 'at read, -
"Whoever kin this trumput blow
Shall cause the Gi'nt's overth'ow!"
An' Jack, he thist reached up an' blowed
The stuffin' out of it! an' th'owed
Th' castul-gates wide open, an'
Nen tuck his gold sword in his han',
An' thist marched in t' ole "Bumblebore,"
An', 'fore he knowed, he put 'bout four
Heads on him - an' chopped 'em off, too! -
Wisht 'at I'd been Jack! - don't you?

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