The Ballad of "Old Scratch"

They have always called him "Scratchy," Ezry
"Scratch" and "Uncle Scratch,"
Since the time he cut that ding-do in a certain wrasslin' match;
'Twas a pesky scaly caper; he deserved to get the name
--If he lives to be a hundred he will carry it the same.
He had vummed that he could wallop any feller in the place,
He allowed that as a wrassler he could sort of set the pace,
And he bragged so much about it that at last we came to think.
If he'd lived in time o' Samson--could have downed Sam quick's a wink.
And there wasn't nary feller in the town nor round about
Who had grit or grab or gumption to take holt and shake him out.
And he set around the gros'ry keepin' up his steady clack
That there never was a feller who could put him on his back.
So it went till Penley Peaslee's oldest boy came home from school
--And I tell you that's a shaver that ain't anybody's fool--!
He ain't tall nor big nor husky and he isn't very stout,
But he's nimble as a cricket and as spry as all git out!
Well, he heard old Ezry braggin' and at last as cool's could be
Boy says, "Uncle, shed your weskit; I will take your stump," says he.
Guess'twas jest about a minute'fore old Ezry got his breath,
Then says he, "Scat on ye, youngster! I should squat ye ha'f to death.
What ye think ye know'bout wrasslin'?
S'pose I'm go'n' to fool with boys?"
But the crowd commenced to hoot him and they made sech pesky noise
That at last they got him swearing and he shed his coat and vest
And commenced to stretch his muscles and to pound against his breast.
"S'pose I've got to if ye say so," says he scornful as ye please,
"But I'll throw that little shaver, one hand tied and on my knees.
I can slat him galley-endways and not use oneha'f my strength.
What ye want bub? Take your ch'ice now; side holts, back holts, or arm's length?
Collar'n elbow if ye say so. Name yer pizen!
Take your pick!"
"Suit yourself," the youngster answered;
"long's ye git to business quick."
As I've said the boy wam't heavy;--he was spry, though, quicker'n scat,
And he had old Ezry spinnin''fore he knew where he was at;
Hooked him solid, give a twister, doubled up the old gent's back
And Ez tumbled like a chimbly--smooth and solid and ker-whack!
Well, he lay there stunned and breathless with his mouth jam-full o' dirt
And his both hands full o' gingham, for he had the youngster's shirt.
When the crowd commenced to holler as he staid there on the ground
Grocer Weaver's old black tom-cat came on tiptoe sniffin' round.
He was just a-gettin' ready for to gnaw off
Ezry's nose
When the old man got his senses and he suddenly arose.
Then he grabbed that old black tom-cat good and solid by the tail
And commenced to welt the youngster just as hard as he could whale.
Ev'ry time he reached and raked him on that bare white back of his--
Ow! them claws they grabbed in dretful and they hurt him--ah, gee whiz!
There were howls and yowls and spittin's; it was rip and slit and tear,
And the air was full of tom-cat and of flyin' skin and hair.
Final clip that Ezry hit him it was such a tarnal clout
That the cat he stuck on solid till they pried his toe-nails out.
So they've always called him "Scratchy" Ezry
"Scratch" and "Uncle Scratch."
Since the time he cut that ding-do in a certain wrasslin' match;
'Twas a pesky scaly caper; he deserved to get the name,
--If he lives to be a hundred he will carry it the same.