Classic Poem

Oh, Dolly, dear, I dest tant play,
I'm miserbl, you see,
'Taus Dran and Mama always is
Misunderstaking me.

Drandma was tross to-day, because
She had to iron some lace,
And all I said was oney this,
Why don't she iron she's face?

And Mama smacked me on the hands,
And pulled me by the fumbs,
And my nice ickle shudder cake
Was all braked up to trumbs.

And Drandma said I was not like
My Mama or my Pa,
Not like dood little dirls, she knows;
And so I screaled, " I'm are. "

And then she said I would not go
To Heaben the way I spoke,
But, Dolly, I don't want to go
Where ebryone eats smoke!