Classic Poem

I don't go much on little games of keerds played with a stranger,
Sence—durned galoot!—I took a hand on board the Natchez Ranger,
With three smooth chaps that said they'd like to pass the time away
In a little social euchre, or some such harmless play.

I never hed sech luck afore, in any spot or place
My hand was frequent lousy with both bowers and the ace.
The chap next to me said, “If we was playin this fur lucre
You'd bust us sure! We're lucky that it's only social euchre!”

Bime bye the chap on tother side, sez he “If this was poker
And I could diskeerd two keerds, I'd have a little joker;
I'd back my three remainin keerds fur all I could afford,
Agin three keerds in any hand there is around this board!”

I looked mine over. Rich? You bet! I gin a chuckle merry,
And know'd I had him! “Cap,” sez I, “you air my huckleberry!”
Then each of us diskeerded two, I had all aces back,
And know'd them would lay over any three keerds in the pack!

Soft thing? I guess not! “Cap,” sez I, “jest name it if you please!”
Sez he, “Wal, sence you air so kind, I'll chip a V on these!”
“Jes so,” sez I, “I see your V and go two X's better!”
“That's jest my fix,” sez he, “I'm bound that I wont be your debtor.”

To cut it short I went fur him, fast as a little wagon,
I had a sure thing—just the hand to make a hot old “brag” on.
My pond got dry. He “called” me. I spread them aces out
And reached fur that thar “pot,” I guess, without a lingerin doubt.

“Hold on!” sez he, “them air not good.” Sez I, “they can't be beat
By no three keerds. Them aces must be jest as good as wheat!”
“Wal here's three clubs—a flush.” sez he, “a flush will still beat threes,
And capture your three aces and the ‘pot’ with perfect ease!”

Plucked? Now you're talkin'! I was plucked as bare as any goose!
I would hev fit, but I soon seed it wouldn't be no use;
Them three smooth chaps was on it, and wasn't skeered at danger.
Sence then I don't go much on social euchre with a stranger!