I never see my pastor's eyes,
He hides their light divine.
For when he prays he closes his
And when he preaches, mine.
Here lies the body of Jonathan Pease
Beneath the sod, beneath the trees.
Pease is not here, only his pod.
Pease has shelled out and gone to God.
One cold day in last October when I was far from sober
And carrying a load with manly pride.
My feet began to stutter so I laid down in the gutter
And a pig came by and laid right by my side.
So I warbled, "Tis fair weather when good fellows get together.
When a lady passing by was heard to say,
And the pig got up and quickly walked away.