'Tis you who makes my friends and foes,
'Tis you who makes me wear old clothes,
Here you are so near my nose,
So tip her up and down she goes.
When I go toiling to my farm
I take little brown jug under my arm,
Place him under a shady tree,
Little brown jug, 'tis you and me.
If all the folks in Adam's race
Were gathered together in one place,
I'd let them go without a tear
Before I'd part from you, my dear.
If I'd a cow that gave such milk,
I'd clothe her in the finest silk
Feed her up on oats and hay,
And milk her twenty times a day.
I bought a cow from Farmer Jones,
And she was nothing but skin and bones.
I fed her up as fine as silk,
She jumped the fence and strained her milk.
And when I die don't bury me at all,
Just pickle my bones in alcohol!
Put a bottle o' booze at my head and feet
And then I know that I will keep.
The rose is red, my nose is too,
The violet's blue and so are you.
And yet I guess, before I stop
I'd better take another drop.