Copyright, 1879, by Mrs. Pauline Lieder.
Words by Berger and Amon. Music by Ned Straight.
I am hard up, you don't know me, for my clothes are tattered and torn;
My parents died when I was young, I'm forsaken, disliked and forlorn;
I travelled this country thro' and thro', on the road and on the rail;
My limbs are getting stiff and cold for the want of a warm meal;
They say, why don't you go to work? when they know there's none to be had;
They slam the door in front of your face if you ask them for a bite of bread.
Some tramps they beg from door to door, and they ask for charity;
They say they've children, ten, at home, and they can't support their family;
But place a nickel in their hand, to some grog-shop they will run-
A poor man's money they will take, and they spend it all for rum;
Now that's the kind that want no work, for they're weak and sick, is their plea;
When they get bread they'll throw it away, from a workingman's poor family.
Twas at an humble cot I called, and I rapped at the back door,
A man asked me what would I have? I told him I was hungry and poor;
Said he, come in and take a seat; and he gave me bread and tea;
He was a son of Erin's Isle, toiling for his family.
I shook his hand, so hard and tough, and the tears rolled fast down my face;
May heaven protect his good family, for you're welcome always at his place.