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There's
thet black abomernation, thet big locomotive there,
Its smoke-tail like a pirut flag, a-wavin' through the air;
An' I mus' set, twelve times a day, an' never raise my arm,
An' see thet gret black monster go a-snortin' through my farm.
My father's
farm, my grandsir's farm, - I come of Pilgrim stock -
My great-great-great-grandsir's farm, way back to Plymouth Rock;
Way back in the sixteen hundreds it was in our family name,
An' no man dared to trespass till that tootin' railroad came.
I sez, "You
can't go through this farm, you hear it flat an' plain!"
An' then they blabbed about the right of "eminunt domain."
"Who's Eminunt Domain?" sez I, "I want you folks
to see
Thet on this farm there ain't no man so eminunt ez me."
An' w'en
their gangs began to dig I went out with a gun,
An' they rushed me off to prison till their wretched work wuz
done.
"If I can't purtect my farm," sez I, "w'y, then,
it's my idee
You'd better shet off callin' this 'the country of the free.'"
There, there,
ye hear it toot agin an' break the peaceful calm.
I tell ye, you black monster, you've no business on my farm!
An' men ride by in stovepipe hats, an' women loll in silk,
An' lookin' in my barnyard, say, "See thet ol' codger milk!"
Git off my
farm, you stuck-up doods, who set in there an' grin,
I own this farm, railroad an' all, an' I will fence it in!
Ding-ding, toot-toot, you black ol' fiend, you'll find w'en you
come back,
An ol' rail fence, without no bars, built straight across the
track.
An' then you stuck-up doods inside, you Pullman upper crust,
Will know this codger'll hold his farm an' let the railroad bust.
You'll find this railroad all fenced in-t'won't do no good to
talk-
If you want to git to Boston, w'y jest take yer laigs an' walk.
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