In the days of my youth and wild disobedience
How well I remember when I climed o'er the fence
For the rosy cheeked apple
Too tempting to pass by,

Until later years that I grew,
To more sense,
Though the seal of my pants
were double lined tribble,

Prepared for the whacking
Let who like assail.
And how the old farmer,
Gave chase from the barn yard,

And the gad that he bore,
Was the half of a flail.
Boys, these were the days
of joy and devertion,

Nothing to worry, nor nothing to fear,
Out over the fence, and away from the orchard
And soon the good farmer left for the rear.