Have you ever seen the devil with his little pick and shovel,
Digging of pertaters with his tail cocked up?
Have you ever seen his son with his daddy's gun
Shooting little bunnies with their tails cocked up?
Have you ever seen his wife with a carving knife
Cutting up pertaters with her tail cocked up?
Have you ever seen his daughter with a bucket gettin' water
From the well that's in the garden with her tail cocked up?
This is what Ngaio Marsh, the crime novelist of yesteryear, recalls some beery
gents singing on a train circa 1920 in the wilder parts of the South Island, New
Zealand, when she was an art student.
Black Beech and Honeydew, an autobiography, 1981
I wonder if there's much more to it than those (bowdlerised?) lines...
Max
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