THE SOUL
I figger the soul of a man is the same underneath of a coat er a shirt,An’ I figger the heart thet pumps life through his frame is the same under di’monds er dirt.Fer his face may be homely an’ tough be his hide an’ busted the bridge of his beak,But the Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ inside an’ awaitin’ its moment to speak.The Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ ’way back, until maybe the lobster fergitsThere is any such thing as a Soul in the shack to take note of his devilish fits.But amuck with the gang, on the long mooch alone, then it follows his footsteps to see;God knows thet I tell what I know, fer my own it has risen an’ spoken to me.It has risen an’ spoken its speech by the light of the flickerin’ flame of the fire,It has come with its voice where the lamps glittered bright on a mob thet was drunk with desire.Fer I know not the hour thet the visitor brings—in the night, in the day, it is near;It has come when no step stirred the stillness of things, it has come when a hundred were here.An’ it knows all the past, ev’ry step of the road I have traveled the years thet are gone;In the Springtime of youth it was there when I sowed in the fields thet was yellow with dawn.It has followed my trail in the woods an’ the town, it has stood by my side at the bar,It has followed my trail either uphill or down, an’ has judged of my deeds as they are.So it stood by my side in that old-time affair when the night turned to red in my eyes,An’ it knows jest how much of my story was square an’ it knows jest how much of it lies,Fer it saw the blow fall, an’ it saw the steel shine, an’ it saw the thing leap to its goal—You can fool all the world with a yarn such as mine, but you can’t tell a lie to your Soul.I have spit on the doors of their law-makin’ shops, I have spit an’ have laffed at the law;I have drunk with their sheriffs an’ played with their cops, with my life as the stake in the draw.I have traveled their streets in the glare of the sun, while the he-hounds were hot on the track—I have shaken them all, shaken all but the one, but the one thet will never turn back.Fer the world may fergit, er the world may not know, er the world it may know an’ not care,But ferever beside me wherever I go still another walks close who was there.Yes, the deed may be done an’ the deed may be hid, may be hid by the snows an’ the sod,But the thing thet I planned an’ the thing thet I did one witness will whisper to God.They know me back home as a man who is dead an’ who passed in his checks as he should,An’ I answer up here to a new name instead thet in every way is as good.I have shaken the teeth of the hounds of the past, fergotten like all men who die,But I know thet my Soul will be there at the last—fer my Soul knows thet I am still I.
I figger the soul of a man is the same underneath of a coat er a shirt,An’ I figger the heart thet pumps life through his frame is the same under di’monds er dirt.Fer his face may be homely an’ tough be his hide an’ busted the bridge of his beak,But the Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ inside an’ awaitin’ its moment to speak.The Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ ’way back, until maybe the lobster fergitsThere is any such thing as a Soul in the shack to take note of his devilish fits.But amuck with the gang, on the long mooch alone, then it follows his footsteps to see;God knows thet I tell what I know, fer my own it has risen an’ spoken to me.It has risen an’ spoken its speech by the light of the flickerin’ flame of the fire,It has come with its voice where the lamps glittered bright on a mob thet was drunk with desire.Fer I know not the hour thet the visitor brings—in the night, in the day, it is near;It has come when no step stirred the stillness of things, it has come when a hundred were here.An’ it knows all the past, ev’ry step of the road I have traveled the years thet are gone;In the Springtime of youth it was there when I sowed in the fields thet was yellow with dawn.It has followed my trail in the woods an’ the town, it has stood by my side at the bar,It has followed my trail either uphill or down, an’ has judged of my deeds as they are.So it stood by my side in that old-time affair when the night turned to red in my eyes,An’ it knows jest how much of my story was square an’ it knows jest how much of it lies,Fer it saw the blow fall, an’ it saw the steel shine, an’ it saw the thing leap to its goal—You can fool all the world with a yarn such as mine, but you can’t tell a lie to your Soul.I have spit on the doors of their law-makin’ shops, I have spit an’ have laffed at the law;I have drunk with their sheriffs an’ played with their cops, with my life as the stake in the draw.I have traveled their streets in the glare of the sun, while the he-hounds were hot on the track—I have shaken them all, shaken all but the one, but the one thet will never turn back.Fer the world may fergit, er the world may not know, er the world it may know an’ not care,But ferever beside me wherever I go still another walks close who was there.Yes, the deed may be done an’ the deed may be hid, may be hid by the snows an’ the sod,But the thing thet I planned an’ the thing thet I did one witness will whisper to God.They know me back home as a man who is dead an’ who passed in his checks as he should,An’ I answer up here to a new name instead thet in every way is as good.I have shaken the teeth of the hounds of the past, fergotten like all men who die,But I know thet my Soul will be there at the last—fer my Soul knows thet I am still I.
I figger the soul of a man is the same underneath of a coat er a shirt,An’ I figger the heart thet pumps life through his frame is the same under di’monds er dirt.Fer his face may be homely an’ tough be his hide an’ busted the bridge of his beak,But the Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ inside an’ awaitin’ its moment to speak.
I figger the soul of a man is the same underneath of a coat er a shirt,
An’ I figger the heart thet pumps life through his frame is the same under di’monds er dirt.
Fer his face may be homely an’ tough be his hide an’ busted the bridge of his beak,
But the Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ inside an’ awaitin’ its moment to speak.
The Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ ’way back, until maybe the lobster fergitsThere is any such thing as a Soul in the shack to take note of his devilish fits.But amuck with the gang, on the long mooch alone, then it follows his footsteps to see;God knows thet I tell what I know, fer my own it has risen an’ spoken to me.
The Soul of the cuss is a-settin’ ’way back, until maybe the lobster fergits
There is any such thing as a Soul in the shack to take note of his devilish fits.
But amuck with the gang, on the long mooch alone, then it follows his footsteps to see;
God knows thet I tell what I know, fer my own it has risen an’ spoken to me.
It has risen an’ spoken its speech by the light of the flickerin’ flame of the fire,It has come with its voice where the lamps glittered bright on a mob thet was drunk with desire.Fer I know not the hour thet the visitor brings—in the night, in the day, it is near;It has come when no step stirred the stillness of things, it has come when a hundred were here.
It has risen an’ spoken its speech by the light of the flickerin’ flame of the fire,
It has come with its voice where the lamps glittered bright on a mob thet was drunk with desire.
Fer I know not the hour thet the visitor brings—in the night, in the day, it is near;
It has come when no step stirred the stillness of things, it has come when a hundred were here.
An’ it knows all the past, ev’ry step of the road I have traveled the years thet are gone;In the Springtime of youth it was there when I sowed in the fields thet was yellow with dawn.It has followed my trail in the woods an’ the town, it has stood by my side at the bar,It has followed my trail either uphill or down, an’ has judged of my deeds as they are.
An’ it knows all the past, ev’ry step of the road I have traveled the years thet are gone;
In the Springtime of youth it was there when I sowed in the fields thet was yellow with dawn.
It has followed my trail in the woods an’ the town, it has stood by my side at the bar,
It has followed my trail either uphill or down, an’ has judged of my deeds as they are.
So it stood by my side in that old-time affair when the night turned to red in my eyes,An’ it knows jest how much of my story was square an’ it knows jest how much of it lies,Fer it saw the blow fall, an’ it saw the steel shine, an’ it saw the thing leap to its goal—You can fool all the world with a yarn such as mine, but you can’t tell a lie to your Soul.
So it stood by my side in that old-time affair when the night turned to red in my eyes,
An’ it knows jest how much of my story was square an’ it knows jest how much of it lies,
Fer it saw the blow fall, an’ it saw the steel shine, an’ it saw the thing leap to its goal—
You can fool all the world with a yarn such as mine, but you can’t tell a lie to your Soul.
I have spit on the doors of their law-makin’ shops, I have spit an’ have laffed at the law;I have drunk with their sheriffs an’ played with their cops, with my life as the stake in the draw.I have traveled their streets in the glare of the sun, while the he-hounds were hot on the track—I have shaken them all, shaken all but the one, but the one thet will never turn back.
I have spit on the doors of their law-makin’ shops, I have spit an’ have laffed at the law;
I have drunk with their sheriffs an’ played with their cops, with my life as the stake in the draw.
I have traveled their streets in the glare of the sun, while the he-hounds were hot on the track—
I have shaken them all, shaken all but the one, but the one thet will never turn back.
Fer the world may fergit, er the world may not know, er the world it may know an’ not care,But ferever beside me wherever I go still another walks close who was there.Yes, the deed may be done an’ the deed may be hid, may be hid by the snows an’ the sod,But the thing thet I planned an’ the thing thet I did one witness will whisper to God.
Fer the world may fergit, er the world may not know, er the world it may know an’ not care,
But ferever beside me wherever I go still another walks close who was there.
Yes, the deed may be done an’ the deed may be hid, may be hid by the snows an’ the sod,
But the thing thet I planned an’ the thing thet I did one witness will whisper to God.
They know me back home as a man who is dead an’ who passed in his checks as he should,An’ I answer up here to a new name instead thet in every way is as good.I have shaken the teeth of the hounds of the past, fergotten like all men who die,But I know thet my Soul will be there at the last—fer my Soul knows thet I am still I.
They know me back home as a man who is dead an’ who passed in his checks as he should,
An’ I answer up here to a new name instead thet in every way is as good.
I have shaken the teeth of the hounds of the past, fergotten like all men who die,
But I know thet my Soul will be there at the last—fer my Soul knows thet I am still I.