Classic Poem

They's a banker that's a trusty workin' on the warden's books;
I kin see him from the rock pile where I'm sittin',
An' on his case I'm basin' this advice to feller crooks:
You'd better git a plenty while yer gittin'.
Now, this guy wrecked a county an' he copped his neighbor's dough;
He got six hundred thousand, which is some change, as you know;
They give him one or two years, an' the softest job here—Oh
It pays to git a plenty while yer gittin'.

me little flask o' nitro an' me bar o' laundry soap,
I blew a safe, an' then, as was befittin',
I took me ten years smilin', glad I didn't get the rope!
But the next time! Oh, a plenty while I'm gittin'!
For this guy tore off half a state an' shook the other half;
He robbed his friends an' neighbors an' he handed both the laugh—
But you oughta heard him holler at that one or two year gaff.
You'd better git a plenty while yer gittin'!

An' so he's here a trusty, while I wear a ball an' chain—
(They say he beat most every statoot written.)
He's got a fortune planted an' all I've got's a pain;
You'd better git a plenty while yer gittin’!
He cost the state a million bucks before they put him here;
He had ten lawyers for his trial, w'ich lasted most a year
An' the jedge who had to sentence him pronounced it with a tear—
It pays to git a plenty while yer gittin’!