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BAR-Z ON A SUNDAY NIGHT |
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W
E ain't no saints on the Bar-Z ranch,
Tis said — an' we know who 'tis — " Th' devil's laid hold on us, tooth an' branch, An' uses us in his biz." Still, we ain't so bad but we might be wuss, An' you'd sure admit that's right, If you happened — an' unbeknown to us — Around, of a Sunday night Th' week-day manners is stowed away,
Th' jokes an' the card games halts,
When Dick's oP fiddle begins to play
A toon — an' it ain't no waltz.
It digs fer th' things that are out o' sight,
It delves through th' toughest crust,
It grips th' heart-strings, an' holds 'em tight,
Till we've got ter sing— er bust!
With pipin' treble the kid starts in, An' Hell! how that kid kin sing! " Yield not to temptation, fer yieldin' is sin," He leads, an' the rafters ring; 11 Fight manfully onward, dark passions subdue," We shouts it with force an' vim; 129 |
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