THE INTERLOPER.

THE INTERLOPER.
517.7

That there little kid upstairs
Ain’t no right to be
uttin’ in on my affairs
And stealin’ things off me.

He stole my mamma first of all,
An’ she makes such a fuss About him when she hears him squall-
The foolish little cuss.
An’ by an’ by she says that I

Will have to share my toys
With him, and that’s the reason why I just hate baby boys.
I wisht I’d saw the angels when
They brought him here that night
And I’d of chased then off egain,

You bet I would, all right
“Going?” we asked. “Goodby.”
“See you later,” he replied, and van ished