Adventures of a Modest Man

_There is a little flow-urr_
  _In our yard it does grow_
  _Where many a happy hou-urr_
  _I watch our rooster crow;_
  _While clothes hang on the clothes-line_
  _And plowing has began_
  --_And the name they call this lit-tul vine_
  _Is just "Old Man."_

      _Old Man, Old Man_
  _A-growing in our yard,_
  _Every spring a-coming up_
  _While yet the ground is har-rrd;_
  _Pottering 'round the chickens' pan,_
  _Creeping low and slow,_
  _And why they call it Old Man_
  _I never asked to know._
  _I never want to know._

  _Crawling through the chick-weed,_
  _Dragging through the quack,_
  _Pussly, tansy, tick-weed_
  _Almost break his back._
  _Catnip, cockle, dock prevent_
  _His travelling all they can,_
  _But still he goes the ways he's went,_
  _Poor Old Man!_

      _Old Man, Old Man,_
  _What's the use of you?_
  _No one wants to see you, like_
  _As if you hadn't grew._
  _You ain't no good to nothing_
  _So far as I can see,_
  _Unless some maiden fair will sing_
  _These lines I've wrote to thee._
  _And sing 'em soft to me._

      _Some maiden fa-hair_
  _With_ { _ra-haven_  } _hair_
         { _go-holden_ }
  _Will si-hing this so-hong_
    _To me-hee-ee!_