Classic Poem

In Yankee mining camps where strangers roam
In search of sudden wealth not found at home;
Where life is cheap and whiskey very " high,"
And pistols lead to mansions in the sky;
The Music Halls entice the ennuy'd crowd
With cracked pianos, tired of life but loud;
And signs abound, this sign among the rest,
" Don't shoot the player, for he does his best."