Old Tom Gin.
AA “SMILE” is it, Hank Rowland,Ye invite me ter take,At the bar of Pete Moody,Jist for the old time sake,And ter keep me erwake?A smile of th’ distillationOf hell that is call’d Gin,—The nectar of the devils!The vile parent of sin,What many waller in?I don’t like ter ’pear ’fensive,My friend Hank, but jist thinkThe temptation ye set meWhen ye ax me ter drink!No, no! from it I shrink!Time war when a poor toperI reel’d erbout the place,A wretched victim of rum,That so many embraceTer thar lastin’ disgrace!Hank, I’ll tell ye a storyWhat’s call’d ter my mindWhen I come any whar n’arThis great curse of mankindWith which stomachs are lin’d!It makes me blush for the past,The ’nebriate I’ve been,When I think of the enemy—The inciter ter sin—They have christen’d “Tom Gin.”When I war marri’d, Hank Rowland,A likelier young chapYe couldn’t find anywharThis side Cumberland Gap,For I tuk no “night cap.”My wife, she war a Christian,And a true wife war she;And God rain’d down His blessin’sOn Malinder and me,With a hand that war free.She bore me three fine children—Two fair gals and a boy—Whose soft chirrupin’ voicesFill’d the cabin with joyAnd love without erloy.When the honeymoon pars’dAnd love seem’d ter grow cold,I stray’d down ter the tavern,—Thar squander’d my gold,And nerglected the fold—Whar my sunny-ha’r’d treasursGather’d ’bout my wife’s side,As she teech’d ’em of the LordWho on Calvary died,And for orphans pervide.As she told them of Heaven,And repeated that pra’rOf the Sevior of the world—So erquented with car’—They never saw me thar!Hank Rowland, I’m ershem’dTer admit it; but, still,It may do another goodTer warn him of what’ll kill,And I swow that I will;For, ye see, thar is manyJist like me ’round hereTurnin’ erway from thar homesWhen the smiles diserpear,’Cause thar wedded ter beer!Wal, down here ter the tavern,As a matter of courseI found many good fellersWho’d not any rermorse,And did not seem advarseTer a toddy or a smoke,A yarn or a story,Of Ingen fights on the Plains,And conflicts quite gory,In sarch of mere glory.Hank, them times war attractive,And I drank like the rest;As months pars’d it grew on me,Till I swigg’d with the best—Pour’d it down with a zest.Then reelin’ home late at nightThe little ones would creepErway ter Merlinder’s roomWith thar mother ter weepIn vain effort ter sleep!As years pars’d I grew keerless—My farm went ter the duce—And I hurl’d at my treasures—Thinkin’ I had excuse—Vile curses and erbuse!One night I went home much laterAnd prepar’d ter rertire;In my drink I upset the lamp—Then the house war afire,And my terror war dire!I stagger’d out ter the yardAnd call’d for help. Ter late!They got out all my childrenBut baby—little Kate—Who met a dreadful fate!The next mornin’, when sober’d,I found my infant dead,—Her body charr’d and blackened—Her death war on my head!My love for whisky fled?Berside that rough pine coffinI knelt me down and wept,And register’d a vow thar,Whar little Katey slept,Hank Rowland, I have kept!’Twar this: never ter touch it—This stuff they have nam’d Gin,What’s draggin’ others ter wharI, findin’ out my sin,Rerfus’d ter suck it in!A smile is it, Hank Rowland,Ye invite me ter take,At the bar of Pete Moody,Jist for the old time sake,And ter keep me erwake?No, Hank, none of it for me!’Twould make the engels groanTer see me touch it. I pars!(Rather be cheng’d ter stone)Jist run the hand alone!
AA “SMILE” is it, Hank Rowland,Ye invite me ter take,At the bar of Pete Moody,Jist for the old time sake,And ter keep me erwake?A smile of th’ distillationOf hell that is call’d Gin,—The nectar of the devils!The vile parent of sin,What many waller in?I don’t like ter ’pear ’fensive,My friend Hank, but jist thinkThe temptation ye set meWhen ye ax me ter drink!No, no! from it I shrink!Time war when a poor toperI reel’d erbout the place,A wretched victim of rum,That so many embraceTer thar lastin’ disgrace!Hank, I’ll tell ye a storyWhat’s call’d ter my mindWhen I come any whar n’arThis great curse of mankindWith which stomachs are lin’d!It makes me blush for the past,The ’nebriate I’ve been,When I think of the enemy—The inciter ter sin—They have christen’d “Tom Gin.”When I war marri’d, Hank Rowland,A likelier young chapYe couldn’t find anywharThis side Cumberland Gap,For I tuk no “night cap.”My wife, she war a Christian,And a true wife war she;And God rain’d down His blessin’sOn Malinder and me,With a hand that war free.She bore me three fine children—Two fair gals and a boy—Whose soft chirrupin’ voicesFill’d the cabin with joyAnd love without erloy.When the honeymoon pars’dAnd love seem’d ter grow cold,I stray’d down ter the tavern,—Thar squander’d my gold,And nerglected the fold—Whar my sunny-ha’r’d treasursGather’d ’bout my wife’s side,As she teech’d ’em of the LordWho on Calvary died,And for orphans pervide.As she told them of Heaven,And repeated that pra’rOf the Sevior of the world—So erquented with car’—They never saw me thar!Hank Rowland, I’m ershem’dTer admit it; but, still,It may do another goodTer warn him of what’ll kill,And I swow that I will;For, ye see, thar is manyJist like me ’round hereTurnin’ erway from thar homesWhen the smiles diserpear,’Cause thar wedded ter beer!Wal, down here ter the tavern,As a matter of courseI found many good fellersWho’d not any rermorse,And did not seem advarseTer a toddy or a smoke,A yarn or a story,Of Ingen fights on the Plains,And conflicts quite gory,In sarch of mere glory.Hank, them times war attractive,And I drank like the rest;As months pars’d it grew on me,Till I swigg’d with the best—Pour’d it down with a zest.Then reelin’ home late at nightThe little ones would creepErway ter Merlinder’s roomWith thar mother ter weepIn vain effort ter sleep!As years pars’d I grew keerless—My farm went ter the duce—And I hurl’d at my treasures—Thinkin’ I had excuse—Vile curses and erbuse!One night I went home much laterAnd prepar’d ter rertire;In my drink I upset the lamp—Then the house war afire,And my terror war dire!I stagger’d out ter the yardAnd call’d for help. Ter late!They got out all my childrenBut baby—little Kate—Who met a dreadful fate!The next mornin’, when sober’d,I found my infant dead,—Her body charr’d and blackened—Her death war on my head!My love for whisky fled?Berside that rough pine coffinI knelt me down and wept,And register’d a vow thar,Whar little Katey slept,Hank Rowland, I have kept!’Twar this: never ter touch it—This stuff they have nam’d Gin,What’s draggin’ others ter wharI, findin’ out my sin,Rerfus’d ter suck it in!A smile is it, Hank Rowland,Ye invite me ter take,At the bar of Pete Moody,Jist for the old time sake,And ter keep me erwake?No, Hank, none of it for me!’Twould make the engels groanTer see me touch it. I pars!(Rather be cheng’d ter stone)Jist run the hand alone!
AA “SMILE” is it, Hank Rowland,Ye invite me ter take,At the bar of Pete Moody,Jist for the old time sake,And ter keep me erwake?A smile of th’ distillationOf hell that is call’d Gin,—The nectar of the devils!The vile parent of sin,What many waller in?
A
I don’t like ter ’pear ’fensive,My friend Hank, but jist thinkThe temptation ye set meWhen ye ax me ter drink!No, no! from it I shrink!Time war when a poor toperI reel’d erbout the place,A wretched victim of rum,That so many embraceTer thar lastin’ disgrace!
Hank, I’ll tell ye a storyWhat’s call’d ter my mindWhen I come any whar n’arThis great curse of mankindWith which stomachs are lin’d!It makes me blush for the past,The ’nebriate I’ve been,When I think of the enemy—The inciter ter sin—They have christen’d “Tom Gin.”
When I war marri’d, Hank Rowland,A likelier young chapYe couldn’t find anywharThis side Cumberland Gap,For I tuk no “night cap.”My wife, she war a Christian,And a true wife war she;And God rain’d down His blessin’sOn Malinder and me,With a hand that war free.
She bore me three fine children—Two fair gals and a boy—Whose soft chirrupin’ voicesFill’d the cabin with joyAnd love without erloy.When the honeymoon pars’dAnd love seem’d ter grow cold,I stray’d down ter the tavern,—Thar squander’d my gold,And nerglected the fold—
Whar my sunny-ha’r’d treasursGather’d ’bout my wife’s side,As she teech’d ’em of the LordWho on Calvary died,And for orphans pervide.As she told them of Heaven,And repeated that pra’rOf the Sevior of the world—So erquented with car’—They never saw me thar!
Hank Rowland, I’m ershem’dTer admit it; but, still,It may do another goodTer warn him of what’ll kill,And I swow that I will;For, ye see, thar is manyJist like me ’round hereTurnin’ erway from thar homesWhen the smiles diserpear,’Cause thar wedded ter beer!
Wal, down here ter the tavern,As a matter of courseI found many good fellersWho’d not any rermorse,And did not seem advarseTer a toddy or a smoke,A yarn or a story,Of Ingen fights on the Plains,And conflicts quite gory,In sarch of mere glory.
Hank, them times war attractive,And I drank like the rest;As months pars’d it grew on me,Till I swigg’d with the best—Pour’d it down with a zest.Then reelin’ home late at nightThe little ones would creepErway ter Merlinder’s roomWith thar mother ter weepIn vain effort ter sleep!
As years pars’d I grew keerless—My farm went ter the duce—And I hurl’d at my treasures—Thinkin’ I had excuse—Vile curses and erbuse!One night I went home much laterAnd prepar’d ter rertire;In my drink I upset the lamp—Then the house war afire,And my terror war dire!
I stagger’d out ter the yardAnd call’d for help. Ter late!They got out all my childrenBut baby—little Kate—Who met a dreadful fate!The next mornin’, when sober’d,I found my infant dead,—Her body charr’d and blackened—Her death war on my head!My love for whisky fled?
Berside that rough pine coffinI knelt me down and wept,And register’d a vow thar,Whar little Katey slept,Hank Rowland, I have kept!’Twar this: never ter touch it—This stuff they have nam’d Gin,What’s draggin’ others ter wharI, findin’ out my sin,Rerfus’d ter suck it in!
A smile is it, Hank Rowland,Ye invite me ter take,At the bar of Pete Moody,Jist for the old time sake,And ter keep me erwake?No, Hank, none of it for me!’Twould make the engels groanTer see me touch it. I pars!(Rather be cheng’d ter stone)Jist run the hand alone!