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Hard Times |
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And there is the lawyer you plainly will see, He will plead your case for a very large fee, He'll law you and tell you the wrong side is right, And make you believe that a black horse is white,— And it's hard, hard times.
And there is the doctor, I like to forgot, I believe to my soul he's the worst of the lot; He'll tell you he'll cure you for half you possess, And when you're buried he'll take all the rest,— And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the old bachelor, all hated with scorn, He's like an old garment all tattered and torn, The girls and the widows all toss him a sigh, And think it quite right, and so do I,— And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the young widow, coquettish and shy, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, But when she gets married she'll cut quite a dash, She'll give him the reins and she'll handle the cash,— And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the young lady I like to have missed, And I believe to my soul she'd like to be kissed; She'll tell you she loves you with all pretence And ask you to call again some time hence,— And it's hard, hard times. |
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