Classic Poem

A forty-niner Song

When you start for San Francisco,
They treat you like a dog,
The victuals you're compelled to eat
Ain't fit to feed a hog.
And a drunken mate a-cursing
And a-ord'ring you around,
And wishing that the boat would sink
And everyone be drowned.

CHORUS :
Then come along, come along,
You that want to go;
" The best accommodations, "
And " the passage very low. "
Our boats they " are large enough, "
Don't be afraid,
The Golden Gate is going down
To beat the Yankee Blade .

The captain goes to dinner
And begins to curse the waiter;
Knocks him out of hearing
With a thundering big potater.
The cabin maid, half crazy, breaks
The meat dish all to smash,
And the steward comes a-running
With a plate of moldy hash.
CHORUS

You are driven 'round the steerage
Like a drove of hungry swine,
And kicked ashore at Panama
By the Independent Line;
Your baggage it is thrown overboard,
The like you never saw.
A trip or two will sicken you
Of going by Panama.
CHORUS