THE SPORT

My boy, it’s the end of the season—Your campstake you’ve got in your clo’es;It isn’t much use fer to reasonWith you, I suppose.I know how the dollars are burnin’A hole in your pocket right now;You’ll blow ’em—what use to be learnin’A lumberjack how?They’re waitin’ down there fer you, brother:The barkeep is loadin’ the gin;Each guy has some game er anotherFer takin’ you in.The dames thet are plastered an’ paintedAre puttin’ on powder fer fair—The ladies whose kisses are taintedAre waitin’ you there.I’ve been through the mill, an’ I know it—I know jest the fool thet you are;Oh, you’ll be a sport, an’ you’ll throw itIn gobs on the bar.It’s “Drinks fer the house!” you’ll be yellin’;The bums will be there to partake.They’ll laugh at the stories you’re tellin’,An’ gobble your stake.While you have been pullin’ a briar,With beans an’ sow-belly to chew,The grafters have set by the fireA-waitin’ fer you—The streak up their backs it is yellah,An’ life without work is the rule;They’ll say you’re a prince of a fellahAn’ think you’re a fool.So work like a dog in the winter,An’ act like an ass in the spring;Some guy with a jack-knife an’ splinterWill say you’re a king.It’s blood, an’ it’s bone, an’ it’s muscle,You’re throwin’ up there on the bar;Next week fer a job you kin rustle,The fool thet you are.Oh, yes, they all think he’s the candy,A sport, a good fellow, who spends;I hope, when they say you’re a dandy,You’re proud of your friends.When you know jest how little there’s in it,Will you hand out your good money still?When you know they’re but friends fer a minute?You proba’ly will.

My boy, it’s the end of the season—

Your campstake you’ve got in your clo’es;

It isn’t much use fer to reason

With you, I suppose.

I know how the dollars are burnin’

A hole in your pocket right now;

You’ll blow ’em—what use to be learnin’

A lumberjack how?

They’re waitin’ down there fer you, brother:The barkeep is loadin’ the gin;Each guy has some game er anotherFer takin’ you in.The dames thet are plastered an’ paintedAre puttin’ on powder fer fair—The ladies whose kisses are taintedAre waitin’ you there.

They’re waitin’ down there fer you, brother:

The barkeep is loadin’ the gin;

Each guy has some game er another

Fer takin’ you in.

The dames thet are plastered an’ painted

Are puttin’ on powder fer fair—

The ladies whose kisses are tainted

Are waitin’ you there.

I’ve been through the mill, an’ I know it—I know jest the fool thet you are;Oh, you’ll be a sport, an’ you’ll throw itIn gobs on the bar.It’s “Drinks fer the house!” you’ll be yellin’;The bums will be there to partake.They’ll laugh at the stories you’re tellin’,An’ gobble your stake.

I’ve been through the mill, an’ I know it—

I know jest the fool thet you are;

Oh, you’ll be a sport, an’ you’ll throw it

In gobs on the bar.

It’s “Drinks fer the house!” you’ll be yellin’;

The bums will be there to partake.

They’ll laugh at the stories you’re tellin’,

An’ gobble your stake.

While you have been pullin’ a briar,With beans an’ sow-belly to chew,The grafters have set by the fireA-waitin’ fer you—The streak up their backs it is yellah,An’ life without work is the rule;They’ll say you’re a prince of a fellahAn’ think you’re a fool.

While you have been pullin’ a briar,

With beans an’ sow-belly to chew,

The grafters have set by the fire

A-waitin’ fer you—

The streak up their backs it is yellah,

An’ life without work is the rule;

They’ll say you’re a prince of a fellah

An’ think you’re a fool.

So work like a dog in the winter,An’ act like an ass in the spring;Some guy with a jack-knife an’ splinterWill say you’re a king.It’s blood, an’ it’s bone, an’ it’s muscle,You’re throwin’ up there on the bar;Next week fer a job you kin rustle,The fool thet you are.

So work like a dog in the winter,

An’ act like an ass in the spring;

Some guy with a jack-knife an’ splinter

Will say you’re a king.

It’s blood, an’ it’s bone, an’ it’s muscle,

You’re throwin’ up there on the bar;

Next week fer a job you kin rustle,

The fool thet you are.

Oh, yes, they all think he’s the candy,A sport, a good fellow, who spends;I hope, when they say you’re a dandy,You’re proud of your friends.When you know jest how little there’s in it,Will you hand out your good money still?When you know they’re but friends fer a minute?You proba’ly will.

Oh, yes, they all think he’s the candy,

A sport, a good fellow, who spends;

I hope, when they say you’re a dandy,

You’re proud of your friends.

When you know jest how little there’s in it,

Will you hand out your good money still?

When you know they’re but friends fer a minute?

You proba’ly will.

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