THE POOR OLD BUM
Copyright, 1878, by O. Ditson & Co.
Words by Francis C. Long. Music by Carl Richter.
Not many years ago I was wealthy, you shall know;
I had houses, lands, and bonds of Uncle Sam.
Then my wife with gems did gleam, aim I drove a tandem team.
Now you can plainly see just what I am.
Oh, I'm a poor old bum, and my curse it has been rum.
Still I like to linger where the glasses clink, clink, clink;
But with every drink I take, a sad mistake I make,
Yet I'd pawn myself this minute for a drink, drink, drink.
There are other men, I see, who are bummers just like me,
They have fallen in the tempter's iron grip;
How we'd bang our heads in shame if some one was but to name
All the tricks we daily play to get a nip.-Chorus.
Ah! too late I learned to know bar-room friendship is a show;
Oft we curse a man while handing him a cup;
Still around the bars I mope, fondly clinging to the hope
That some verdant one will come and set 'em Up.-Chorus.
The chums I used to treat often meet me on the street,
And they puss me with a cold and freezing frown;
Hoys, I warn you one and all, drink will surely cause your fall.
And nobody will stand by you when you're down.-Chorus.