Who put his hand in his pocket
While his arm was out of socket
And noted the relief.
And when the man got home he found
The underdrawers that he had on
Beneath his outer britches
Had no pocket, but some slits with stitches
That allowed him better to pee.
But with his outer britches off,
He found his pocket also doffed
And his arm hung limp and he screamed in pain
Until he pulled his underbreeks
Up to his chin and slang his sore arm tnru.
And this all worked fine
Until his wife came in from the butcher shack
And found him in this matter-of-fact way,
And in her alacrity and pragmatic sense
Of his calamity and her defense
Of such a sight in her kitchen,
She took up a bodkin and sliced off a piece of her own petticoat
And fashioned him a proper sling
That he could wear with anything
Whether pocketed or not
Until his arm healed up right and righteously.