On Top of Old Smokey

On top of Old Smokey,
All covered with sand,
I shot my school teacher,
With an old rubber band.

I shot her with pleasure,
I shot her with pride,
For I couldn't miss her,
She was forty feet wide.

She run out and catched me,
Throwed me 'cross her knee,
But in the seat of my britches,
I had my old Geography.

She reached for her ruler,
And took a swipe at me,
She missed old Kentucky,
But she hit Tennessee.