Classic Poem

I' M the ramblin' son with the nervous feet
That never was made for a steady beat.
I had many a job — for a little while:
I been on the bum and I've lived in style,
But there was the road windin' mile after mile —
And nothing to do but go.

So it's beat it, Bo, while your feet are mates;
Take a look at the whole United States.
Oh the fire and a pal and a smoke at night,
And up again in the mornin' bright,
With nothing but road and sky in sight!
And nothing to do but go.

Then beat it, Bo, while the walkin' 's good;
While the birds on the wires are sawin' wood;
If to-day ain't the finest for you and me,
There's always to-morrow what's goin' to be,
And the day after that is a-comin' — see!
And nothing to do but go.

So beat it, Bo, while you're young and strong;
See all you can, for it won't last long.
You can stop for only a little spell
On the long gray road to Fare-ye-well,
That leads to Heaven or mebby Hell —
And nothing to do but go.