Three Crows. (Pat's Pick, page 57.) 4 Flats There were, three crows sat on a tree, And they were black as crows could be. Said one old crow unto his mate: "What shall we do for grub to ate?" "There lies a horse on yonder plain, Who's by some cruel butcher slain." "We'll perch upon his bare back-bone, And pick his eyes out one by one." The horse has carried many passengers, But now his bones will have to be made up into sassengers.

Upidee. (Pat's Pick, page 88; Franklin Square, No. 1, page 68.)

The shades of night were comin' down swift, Upidee, upida, The snow was heapirg up, drift on drift, Upidee-ida. Through a Yankee village a youth did go, Carrying a flag with this motto— Chorus—U-pi-dee-i-dee-i-da, Upidee, Upida, U-pi-dee-i-dee-i-da, Upidee-i-da. O'er his high forehead curled copious hair, He'd a Roman nose and complexion fair; He'd a light blue eye and auburn lash, And he ever kep' shoutin' through his