Little Curly Joe go blow your horn,

That things so loud, it will cause a storm.

The river will flood, the crow has flown,

Take your foot and kick a stone.

The peas in the patch will surely die,

The apples on the tree will fall to the ground,

They won’t even make a sound,

Gather them up and we’ll take them to town.

Come on boy, don’t stand there and frown.

The corn will lean, then fall down,

All because Curly Joe,

blew his horn.