Oh, why don't I work like other men do? How the hell can I work when the skies are so blue? Hallelujah, I'm a bum! Hallelujah, bum again, Hallelujah, give us a hand-out, Revive us again. If I was to work and save all I earn, I could buy me a bar and have money to burn. Oh, the winter is over and we're all out of jail; We are tired of walking and hungry as hell. Oh, I ride box cars and I ride fast mails, When it's cold in the winter I sleep in the jails. I passed by saloon and I hear someone snore, And I found the bartender asleep on the floor. I stayed there and drank till a fly-mug came in, And he put me to sleep with a sap on the chin. Next morning in court I was still in a haze, When the judge looked at me, he said "Thirty days.' Some day a long train will run over my head, And the sawbones will say "Old One-Finger's dead.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PHONECALL FROM FRANK O'HARA by ANNE WALDMAN FLOWERS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ROMANCE OF BRUNETTES AND BLONDES by JACQUES BARON PURIFICATION OF YE B. VIRGIN (TO A BASE, A TENOR, AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT BALM OF NATURE by ALICE GILL BENTON |