Classic Poem

Thar's no respect fer youth er age
A-board the Californy Stage:
Yu pull an' haul an' push an' yank
Ontill ye're ga'nted lean an' lank.
They crowd you in with Chinese men,
Like fat hawgs packed into a pen;
They're bound your stomick to provoke
With musty plug-terbacker smoke.

Oh, they started this dam thievin' line
Back in th' days o' Forty-Nine:
All peace an' comfort they defy;
You pay, then ride " Root hawg er die! "

The ladies is compelled to sit
With dresses in terbacker spit.
The gold-crazed men don't seem to care;
Just talk an' lie, an' sing an' swear.
The dust lays deep in summertime,
The mountains steep an' hard to climb;
The drivers yell, " Whoa, Moll! Whoa, Bill!
Climb out, all hands, an' push up hill! "

When them dam drivers feel inclined
They make you walk along behind,
An' on your shoulders lug a pole
To help 'em through some big mud-hole.
They smile an' promise, when you pay,
" You'll have to walk 'bout half the way! "
Them lying skunks kin dam well laugh ...
You have to push the other half!

Thar's no respect fer youth er age
A-board the Californy Stage!
You pull an' haul, an' cuss the day
You left a good home fur away:
An' when at last, all pale an' sore,
You reach the Sacremento's shore,
You're too dam heartsick fer to scold,
And too dam weak to pick up gold!