It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy br That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; br For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, br Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; br Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, br An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants. br It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine - br There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine! br br One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained! br (But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) br And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun - br But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun! br They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, br That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes! br Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine br That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine! br br But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, br For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.