 | Original Songs (1861) |  |
97
OLD TEAREM.
I
Every one's heard of our bull-dog, Old Tearem,And knows what a fellow he is for a fight;
That when he lays hold there is no escaping,
For like the grip of a vice is his bite.
He takes his time, and he never hurries,
But wags his tail and quietly worries.
Cut it off, and then you wouldn't prevail,
For it's no use to him, as he never turns tail.
II
You might cut a leg off, he never would miss it,But hold fast and finish the work he'd begun,
For legs are no use to our bull-dog, Old Tearem:
And if he had sixty he never would run.
98
Only, John Bull-like, a little growling;
And every thief, when he once hears that note,
Begins to look out and take care of his throat.
III
And he can fight both on land and on water,And many a battle has he had on deck;
And before now he has dash'd through a port-hole,
And dragg'd his enemy out by the neck.
He's lost some teeth—that's but a trifle,
And for a coral we gave him a rifle;
And since he has had it, which is a strange case,
Why new ones are all coming out in their place.
T. M.
| Original Songs (1861) | |