Copyright, 1893, by Frank Tousey.
By Felix McGlennon.
When the exile returns to the land of his birth,
After wand'ring the wide world o'er.
How he yearns for a glimpse of the faces he loves,
As he reaches the old home once more.
Warm hands clasp his own, and warm hearts seem to thrill,
Smiling lips words of welcome repeat:
So he thrills with emotion, with love and with pride,
And says to the friends he may meet:
Oh, friends, dear old friends, bless you where'er you may be;
Oh, friends, dear old friends, you have been kind to me.
I had once lots of dollars, but now I have none,
For my dear friends have left me forlorn;
They have borrowed my shirt, they have borrowed my socks,
How I wish they would borrow my corn.
My friends said they'd stick to me through thick and thin,
And nothing their friendship would check,
But the only dear friend who has stuck to the end
Is a boil on the back of my neck.- Chorus.
I'd a friend who shared with me each thing he possessed;
He'd a black eye and gave me one, too;
He caught scarlet fever and gave me my share;
He said 'twas his duty to do.
I'd one more dear friend, who ran off with my wife-
My wife took my cash and my curls;
Oh, bless them-they were good, so thoughtful, so kind;
They left me sixteen boys and girls.- Chorus.
There's one friend seems to cling to me, never to part,
'Tis my sweet-tempered mother-in-law;
She clings to my whiskers, she clings to my cash.
And comforts me with her sweet jaw.
Another dear friend has clung to me of late,
A present he was from my aunts-
That bull-dog sticks to me-'twas only last night
He stuck to the roof of my pants.- Chorus.