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THE MINER'S SONG * |
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N a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser, His singlejack was resting on his knee. His old " buggy " in the corner told the same old
plaintive tale, His ore had left in all his poverty. He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered
face, And said: " Old boy, I know we're not to blame; Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken, But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
" We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
Although it's gone into some other's claim.
My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve
if we don't find it, And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same.
41 For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to
make a strike, I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw. I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a
snake. My jack's ate all my books on mining law.
* Printed as a fugitive ballad in Grandon of Sierra, by Charles E. Winter.
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