From The Rudder, Volume 13 edited by Thomas Fleming Day (New York: The Rudder Publishing Company, 1902), page 535:


OUR DARLING SQUAREHEAD BOY.

Now he's gone from us forever,
Our darling Norwegian boy,
And we'll never see his square head any more,
For he simply passed away
On the ninety-third of May,
And he never died so suddenly before.

No more upon the mat
Will he tickle pussy cat.
No more between his teeth he'll squeeze her tail.
No more he'll rub her nose
Up against a red-hot grate,
For little brother Willie's kicked the pail.

CHORUS: Now he's gone from us forever
At the age of ninety-four.
There is nothing in the world his life could save.
I'm going to the bone-yard
To fulfill his last request,
That's to plant a load of brickdust on his grave.

Now we knew that he was dying
By the color of his breath.
We knew the flower was nipping in the bud;
And the doctor said the only means
Of saving him from death
Was to stop the circulation of his blood.

Then we filled his mouth with glue
Just to try and pull him through,
But alas! all our efforts were in vain,
For after all we tried,
He simply smiled and died,
Then he blew his nose and smiled and died again.

Now I never will forget the evening
That our darling square-head died.
It was early — about twelve o'clock at night.
The cows were laying eggs,
And the hens were making hay,
And the sun and moon and stars were shining bright.

It was then we bathed his head
In a pot of boiling lead,
And 'twas then we gently laid him down to rest,
But in the night a burglar came,
And sneaked into his bunk,
And swiped the mustard plaster off his chest.