﻿Reuben Reuben 
 
I took a trip to North Dakota — 
I to the great big harvest went — 
Being a greenhorn at stud-poker 
I didn’t save me a dog-gone cent. 
 
Cold was the wind that soon was sighing 
I took a hand in sighing too; 
Rut when the snowflakes took to flying 
I and my nose took on some blue. 
 
I wasn’t dressed what you call the warmest 
Time and again I thought I’d freeze— 
Whereas was I—but slightly harnessed. 
Dressed in a pair of B. V. D.s 
 
How to exist I was uncertain — 
Didn’t know how to beg or steal— 
Wondering deep down in my person 
How would a pair of pork-chops feel. 
 
Night manifests a baneful drawback 
So does a frost November morn — 
When I arise — in a farmer’s straw stack, 
I didn’t pause to express my scorn. 
—Got Stuck.