TELL ME

come tell me, sir, what ye'd infer
by how she smiles at me
and share your thought of rose I brought
to beg her sympathy

and while we talk; tis ere I balk;
I'm shy to women folk,
but tell me, sir, what ye'd infer.
her smile is but a joke?
 
please tell me, sir, what ye'd infer
of woman's wily guiles,
of why I'm weak'o kneed each time
she flashes those big smiles.

I'm not the matrimony type,
but hunger for her look.
oh, tell me, sir what ye'd infer;
there's naught in any book.

and tell me, sir, what ye'd infer;
she's smiling at me now.
I fear I must be going, sir;
her smiles scare me somehow.

                   --Monty Wheeler