  When we went down to grandma’s To visit our dearest kin, We asked for grandma’s rag bag That hangs in the garret bin. Oh, grandma’s frugal minded From an old New England day, But you ought to see that rag bag And the things she threw away. There were gloves that had no fingers, And hose of Highland clans; There were petticoats from Paris And Pekin’s painted fans. Our fingers flew at random Like bees at a flower stall, And we found that gown of grandma’s That she wore at the governor’s ball. We carried it down from the garret, The Florentine flounces set; And we made our grandma show us How she danced the minuet. Oh, grandma’s frugal minded, And sometimes her foot goes down, But her riches she puts in the rag bag When we are coming to town. |
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