Sometimes when we're in school, and it's the afternoon and late,
And kinder warm and sleepy, don't yer know;
And p'r'aps a feller's studyin' or writin' on his slate,
Or, maybe chewin' paper-balls to throw,
And teacher's sort er lazy, too—why, then there'll come a knock
And everybody'll brace up quick's they can;
We boys and girls'll set up straight, and teacher'll smooth her frock,
Because it's him—the school-committee man.

He'll walk in kinder stately-like and say, "How do, Miss Brown?"
And teacher, she'll talk sweet as choclate cake;
And he'll put on his specs and cough and pull his eyebrows down
And look at us so hard 't would make yer shake.
We'll read and spell, so's he can hear, and speak a piece or two,
While he sets there so dreadful grand and cool;
Then teacher'll rap her desk and say, "Attention!" soon's we're through,
And ask him, won't he please address the school.

He'll git up kinder calm and slow, and blow his nose real loud,
And put his hands behind beneath his coat,
Then kinder balance on his toes and look 'round sort er proud
And give a big "Ahem!" ter clear his throat;
And then he'll say: "Dear scholars, I am glad ter see yer here,
A-drinkin'—er—the crystal fount of lore;
Here with your books, and—er—and—er—your teacher kind and dear,
And with—ahem—er—as I said before."

We have ter listen awful hard ter every word of his
And watch him jest like kittens do a rat,
And laugh at every joke he makes, don't care how old it is,
'Cause he can boss the teacher,—think of that!
I useter say, when I growed up I 'd be a circus chap
And drive two lions hitched up like a span;
But, honest, more I think of it, I b'lieve the bestest snap
Is jest ter be a school-committee man.