It's not 'cause I don't 'preciate it ain't no time fer jokes, Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin' fer the folks;-- I've went to funerals myse'f, and tuk on some, perhaps-- Fer my heart's 'bout as mal'able as any other chap's,-- I've buried father, mother--but I'll haf to jes' git _you_ To "excuse _me_," as the feller says.--The p'int I'm drivin' to Is, simply, when we're plum broke down and all knocked out o' whack, It he'ps to shape us up, like, When the Hearse Comes Back! The idy! wadin' round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe, When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine, don't you know! When evening strikes the pastur', cows'll pull out fer the bars And skittish-like from out the night'll prance the happy stars: And so when _my_ time comes to die, and I've got ary friend 'At wants expressed my last request--I'll, mebby, rickommend To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin' 'long the _out'ard_ track, But I'll smile and say, "You speed 'em When the Hearse Comes Back!" OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL O it's good to ketch a relative 'at's richer and don't run When you holler out to hold up, and'll joke and have his fun; It's good to hear a man called bad and then find out he's not, Er strike some chap they call lukewarm 'at's really red-hot; It's good to know the Devil's painted jes' a leetle black, And it's good to have most anybody pat you on the back;-- But jes' the best thing in the world's our old friend Neverfail, When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail! I like to strike the man I owe the same time I can pay, And take back things I've borried, and su'prise folks thataway; I like to find out that the man I voted fer last fall, That didn't git elected, was a scoundrel after all; I like the man that likes the pore and he'ps 'em when he can; I like to meet a ragged tramp 'at's still a gentleman; But most I like--with you, my boy--our old friend Neverfail, When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail! DAN O'SULLIVAN Dan O'Sullivan: It's your Lips have kissed "The Blarney," sure!-- To be trillin' praise av me, Dhrippin' shwate wid poethry!-- Not that I'd not have ye sing-- Don't lave off for anything-- Jusht be aisy whilst the fit Av me head shwells up to it! Dade and thrue, I'm not the man, Whilst yer singin', loike ye can, To cry shtop because ye've blesht My songs more than all the resht:-- I'll not be the b'y to ax Any shtar to wane or wax, Or ax any clock that's woun', To run up inshtid av down!