Hey, you swelled-up turkey feller!
Struttin' round so big and proud.
Pretty quick I guess your beller
Won't be goin' quite so loud.
Say, I'd run and hide, I bet you,
And I'd leave off eatin' some,
Else the choppin'-block'll get you,—
Don't you know November's come?

Don't you know that Grandma's makin'
Loads of mince and pun'kin pies?
Don't you smell those goodies cookin'?
Can't you see 'em? Where's your eyes?
Tell that rooster there that's crowin',
Cute folks now are keepin' mum;
They don't show how fat they 're growin'
When they know November's come.

'Member when you tried ter lick me?
Yes, you did, and hurt me, too!
Thought't was big ter chase and pick me,—
Well, I'll soon be pickin' you.
Oh, I know you 're big and hearty,
So you needn't strut and drum,—
Better make your will out, smarty,
'Cause, you know, November's come.

"Gobble! gobble!" oh, no matter!
Pretty quick you'll change your tune;
You'll be dead and in a platter,
And I'll gobble pretty soon.
'F I was you I'd stop my puffin',
And I'd look most awful glum;—
Hope they give you lots of stuffin'!
Ain't you glad November's come?