I know a little fellow, his name I think is Jo,
But he is seldom called by that-he has a queer nick-name,
Wherever he goes the children cry, "There comes 'I-told-you-so.'"
For that is what he always says in playing any game,
"I told you so! I told you so!
You see I was right when I told you so."
He is not more than twelve at most and, yet, to hear him brag,
You would believe him forty-five, so much he seems to know.
Whatever the sport or fun may be, if marbles, ball or tag,
You hear his shrill young voice ring out "There, now, I told you so.
I told you so, I told you so,
You see I was right, for I told you so."
He thinks the children most unkind when they refuse to play,
Or when they hide their plans from him and do not let him know!
He never thinks how hard it is to hear day after day
That aggravating cry of his, "There now, I told you so.
I told you so, I told you so,
You see I was right, for I told you so."
The boy is bright and smart enough, and might be loved by all,
If he could learn one truth which not all grown up people know.
That truth is this: in life's great game, no matter what befall,
The nobler nature never cries, "There now, I told you so.
I told you so, I told you so,"
'Tis the cry of the braggart, I told you so.
