So poor old Prunes has cashed in — Too bad. Still, in a way
I'm glad the old boy's eased off and is calling it a day.
I'm going to miss him scand'lous; the world won't seem the same
Not having him a-standin' here hee-hawing in the game.
We've sure drawed cards together aplenty: Prunes and me;
We've bucked the play in every way the cards was dealt to we:
Sometimes we filled our hands and won — so seldom 'twas a joke —
Most often we just bob-tail flushed and wound up stony broke.
But no matter if we win or lose, old Prunes hee-hawed the same;
The trails were all alike to him: it all was in the game
We played with fortune. Come the breaks our way or plumb 'gainst us
Old Prunes just toted fair and stuck 'thout making ary fuss.
When grub was plenty, grass was long, and trails was smooth he took
His share and share alike with me. If things went scant he shook
His head and laffed: " Hee-haw — Hee-haw! " The philosophic cuss!
And dined on greasy gunnysacks an' bacon rinds — an' wuss.
I've prospected in company with every kind of man
That ever hit these hills. Sometimes I'd meet with one who'd pan
Out fairly good; but mostly they was allus lookin' out
For Number One. I reckon you know what I'm talking 'bout.
I've throwed in with 'em — every race an' breed an' color, too —
An' found 'em all just lackin' of some one thing — maybe two.
Some had no guts; some had no sense; some wasn't honest; so
Not one of them could average up with Prunes, my old burro.
For Prunes was faithful, honest, an' he never tried to shirk
From doin' of his bit, no matter how damned hard the work.
And he didn't grouch and grumble when the eats was kinda short:
He took all things just as they come. Old Prunes was a good sport!
An' I don't think he delib'rately laid down on me when come
His time to peter out and hit the trail for Jackass Home.
But I'm kinda peeved to think he's goin' it upon his own
An' leavin' me behind to play the deal out all alone.
I'm not much on religion; and sometimes I've a doubt
About this " Immortality " sky-pilots rave about.
But I'm gamblin' if there be another life after this one
It won't be just restricted to the things called man alone.
But every thing now livin' will surely live again —
(I know a hundred that deserves to, more than most of men)
An' if they do, why, sure as shootin' mongst those heavenly tunes
I'll betcha fifty bucks we'll hear the " Hee-haw " of old Prunes.
Maybe the preachers got it right. I hope they have! I'd like
Along with Prunes, among those golden fields to take a hike.
We'd sure find pay dirt if it's there. You betcher life on that.
For Prunes an' me knows values when we see them — that is flat!
An' if, belike, they shouldn't reckon us just good enough
To trail 'round with the gang up there, and go to treat us rough
An' slide us down the chute to where no icy moss festoons,
We'd prospect there for sulphurets — and find 'em, too. Hey, Prunes?
I'm glad the old boy's eased off and is calling it a day.
I'm going to miss him scand'lous; the world won't seem the same
Not having him a-standin' here hee-hawing in the game.
We've sure drawed cards together aplenty: Prunes and me;
We've bucked the play in every way the cards was dealt to we:
Sometimes we filled our hands and won — so seldom 'twas a joke —
Most often we just bob-tail flushed and wound up stony broke.
But no matter if we win or lose, old Prunes hee-hawed the same;
The trails were all alike to him: it all was in the game
We played with fortune. Come the breaks our way or plumb 'gainst us
Old Prunes just toted fair and stuck 'thout making ary fuss.
When grub was plenty, grass was long, and trails was smooth he took
His share and share alike with me. If things went scant he shook
His head and laffed: " Hee-haw — Hee-haw! " The philosophic cuss!
And dined on greasy gunnysacks an' bacon rinds — an' wuss.
I've prospected in company with every kind of man
That ever hit these hills. Sometimes I'd meet with one who'd pan
Out fairly good; but mostly they was allus lookin' out
For Number One. I reckon you know what I'm talking 'bout.
I've throwed in with 'em — every race an' breed an' color, too —
An' found 'em all just lackin' of some one thing — maybe two.
Some had no guts; some had no sense; some wasn't honest; so
Not one of them could average up with Prunes, my old burro.
For Prunes was faithful, honest, an' he never tried to shirk
From doin' of his bit, no matter how damned hard the work.
And he didn't grouch and grumble when the eats was kinda short:
He took all things just as they come. Old Prunes was a good sport!
An' I don't think he delib'rately laid down on me when come
His time to peter out and hit the trail for Jackass Home.
But I'm kinda peeved to think he's goin' it upon his own
An' leavin' me behind to play the deal out all alone.
I'm not much on religion; and sometimes I've a doubt
About this " Immortality " sky-pilots rave about.
But I'm gamblin' if there be another life after this one
It won't be just restricted to the things called man alone.
But every thing now livin' will surely live again —
(I know a hundred that deserves to, more than most of men)
An' if they do, why, sure as shootin' mongst those heavenly tunes
I'll betcha fifty bucks we'll hear the " Hee-haw " of old Prunes.
Maybe the preachers got it right. I hope they have! I'd like
Along with Prunes, among those golden fields to take a hike.
We'd sure find pay dirt if it's there. You betcher life on that.
For Prunes an' me knows values when we see them — that is flat!
An' if, belike, they shouldn't reckon us just good enough
To trail 'round with the gang up there, and go to treat us rough
An' slide us down the chute to where no icy moss festoons,
We'd prospect there for sulphurets — and find 'em, too. Hey, Prunes?