Saturday, August 1, 2015

Fellow Sympathy



You’ve got the wurst uv all complaints,
     Hain’t ye, friend? So’ve I.
The hardest fate ter buck against
Thet man did ever try.
You ain’t a-feelin’ fust class now,
     Be ye, friend? Neither’m I;
Our health is miser’bul, anyhow –
     We sometimes sooner die.
You’ve got the hardest job in town,
     Hain’t ye now? Me, too;
There hain’t another feller roun’
     Thet hes so much ter do.
Thar won’t nobody take our jokes,
     Will they? Git up a fuss;
But we mus’ stan’ the other folks
     An’ laff when they joke us.
We hev a pretty tough ol’ road
     To travel, don’t we, hey?
An’ back aroun’ the biggest load
     Uv any man ter-day?
But take it all aroun’ you hain’t
     So very bad a b’y,
But ye? Withal yer wust complaint
     Yur purty good? So’m I.




Aug. 1, ‘92
Pub. in the
Boston Courier


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