Classic Poem

The lumberjack he ain't no saint,
That much I will agree;
There are occasions when he ain't
Just what he ought to be.
At sayin' prayers he's kind of slack,
An' kind of fond of drink;
An' yet these fellahs ain't as black
As some folks seem to think.

Now there was Billy Anderson,
A jack from Puget Sound,
A fellah who could lift a ton
Like some men lift a pound.
An' yet he had the kindest heart,
As big as kingdom come —
You'd always see him take the part
Of creatures that was dumb.

Bill never any horse would whip,
No matter how he balked,
An' on an extry longish trip
Big Bill got out an' walked.
Bill never yet was known to kick
The meanest yellow cur;
An', when that spotted calf was sick,
How Bill took care of her!

Why, I remember once we had
A cat around the camp;
She wandered in so thin an' sad,
A reg'lar little tramp.
Bill fed her meat an' fed her milk
An' give her half his chuck,
Until her coat was fine as silk —
She surely was in luck.

Bill Anderson he wouldn't hurt
(So tenderhearted he)
The mole that burrowed in the dirt
Or bird upon the tree.
There's nothin' riled Bill Anderson
As for some big galoot
To start to plaguin', just for fun,
Some helpless little brute.

One night the clerk he tied a can
Upon the kitten's tail
An' turned her loose outdoors — an', man,
You ought to seen her sail!
Then Bill, the tenderheartedest
Of men, just give a gulp
An' jumped upon that joker's chest
An' beat him to a pulp.