Classic Poem

'T WAS in one of them " Come in Stranger, " joints,
That sure does lots of good,
Where they give you a bed and a bowl of soup
For sawin' a cord of wood,

That I heard that talk of the Infinite,
— They was four of us in the yard,
And our hands was raw and our stomachs flat
For that hickory wood was hard —

When the hoss-faced guy and his Infinite
Was all that we got to chew,
While waitin' the chicory, beans and pork,
And with nothin' else to do.

But to listen to one fed stomach talk
About the future of our souls;
And he knew we dassent to sass him back
Or we'd lose our breakfast rolls.

And he made us feel, or tried to make
Us feel sorry that we was born,
And I happened to recollect as how
The Disciples swiped the corn.

As they needed it along the way,
Being hungry like all folks get,
And I got kind of sore on the hoss-faced guy,
For his sayin's, they did n't set.

All too good on my empty stomach then,
And I reckon I got too rash,
And I says, " Nix, Bo, on the Infinite,
What we're needin' most is hash! "

It come damn hard to give up our grub,
But Toledo Blake and I
We beat it then while the others stayed
And ate with that hoss-faced guy.

We braced a gent on the down-town side,
And told him our story straight;
He did n't yip for a Dick, but grinned
And I liked his style first-rate.

" I own a string of saloons, " he says,
" From here to the blooming Bay,
I don't stand in with the Gentrytown,
But I've got this much to say,

" There was never a hungry man on earth
Been kep' waitin' on my talk yet,
And as sure as my name is Tim, " says he,
" You want hash — and it's hash you'll get. "

It was coffee and ham and potatoes fried
And eggs and some real French rolls.
Thinks I, how were hungry guys to know
That God ever gave 'em souls?

Did you ever bump into Tim Sullivan
With the vest like a yella splash?
Well, he don't go much on the Infinite
But say, he knows hash is hash!