Classic Poem

Throughout our rambles much we find,
The bee trees burst with honey;
Wild birds we tame of ev'ry kind,
At once they seem to be resigned;
I know but one that lags behind—
There's nothing lags but money.

The woods afford us much supply,
The opossum, coon and coney;
They are all tame and venture nigh,
Regardless of the public eye;
I know but one among them shy,
There's nothing shy but money.

And she lies in the bankrupt shade,
The cunning fox is funny;
When thus the public debts are paid,
Deceitful cash is not afraid,
Where funds are hid for private trade,
There's nothing paid but money.

Thou let us roam the woods along,
And drive the coon and coney;
Our lead is good, our powder strong,
To shoot the pigeons as they throng,
But sing no more the idle song,
Nor prowl the chase for money.