It ain’ the ringing of the bell
which calls me back to skule once more;
it ain’t that i must lurn to spell
that makes my hart so orful soar:
it ain’t that fracktions i must lurn
nor jografy that makes me blew,
it ‘s just becoz today i yurn
to do the things i didn’t doo.
ring out, wild bell! ime on mi way
to skule again, and summer’s done —
it dussent seem more than a day
since i began to have mi fun.
i wouldn’t mind this cuming back,
it ain’t the skule ime kicking on,
it’s just becoz i missed a stack
of fun, and now the summer’s gone.
i planned to bild a coogie in
our yard, where all the kids could meat;
the roof was going to be of tin,
and we ‘d have carpet for our feet;
and i was going to organize
a brave and daring pirut crew
and we ‘d take rich men bi surprize —
but gee! how fast the summer’s flue.
and that’s the skule bell ringing now,
vacashun’s slipped away from me;
what i acomplisshed anyhow
is something more than i can see;
i’ve had some fun, of course, but then,
it really seams to beet the dutch
how very little i did when
i planned to do so very much.
Ah, little boy, you do not know
The lesson that you teach us all;
You with unwilling feet now go
To school at the approach of Fall.
We grown-ups soon will hear a bell,
Announcing that our course is run,
Far more than death we fear to tell
The good deeds that we might have done.
