My Sort O’ Man
I don’t believe in ‘ristercratsAn’ never did, you see;The plain ol’ homelike sorter folksIs good enough fur me.O’ course, I don’t desire a manTo be too tarnal rough,But then, I think all folks should knowWhen they air nice enough.
Now there is folks in this here world,From peasant up to king,Who want to be so awful niceThey overdo the thing.That’s jest the thing that makes me sick,An’ quicker ‘n a winkI set it down that them same folksAin’t half so good ‘s you think.
I like to see a man dress nice,In clothes becomin’ too;I like to see a woman fixAs women orter to do;An’ boys an’ gals I like to seeLook fresh an’ young an’ spry.—We all must have our vanityAn’ pride before we die.
But I jedge no man by his clothes,—Nor gentleman nor tramp;The man that wears the finest suitMay be the biggest scamp,An’ he whose limbs air clad in ragsThat make a mournful sight,In life’s great battle may have provedA hero in the fight.
I don’t believe in ‘ristercrats;I like the honest tanThat lies upon the healthful cheekAn’ speaks the honest man;I like to grasp the brawny handThat labor’s lips have kissed,For he who has not labored hereLife’s greatest pride has missed:
The pride to feel that yore own strengthHas cleaved fur you the wayTo heights to which you were not born,But struggled day by day.What though the thousands sneer an’ scoff,An’ scorn yore humble birth?Kings are but puppets; you are kingBy right o’ royal worth.
The man who simply sits an’ waitsFur good to come along,Ain’t worth the breath that one would takeTo tell him he is wrong.Fur good ain’t flowin’ round this worldFur every fool to sup;You ‘ve got to put yore see-ers on,An’ go an’ hunt it up.
Good goes with honesty, I say,To honour an’ to bless;To rich an’ poor alike it bringsA wealth o’ happiness.The ‘ristercrats ain’t got it all,Fur much to their su’prise,That’s one of earth’s most blessed thingsThey can’t monopolize.