WE FELLERS DIGGIN’ CLAMS

Pluck, pluck,

Pluck, pluck!

Stubbin’ acrost the clam-flat muck!

Ev’ry time I lift my huck,

—Hearin’ the heel of my old boot suck,

It seems to me that a word plops out,

And I’ve listened so often there ain’t no

doubt

It’s pluck, pluck, pluck.

And pluck and the job they jest agree

—Dig clams, my lad, for a while and see!

It’s a stiddy kind of bus’ness an’ it ain’t for

shiny boots,

But still—ye know,’tain’t bad!

It ain’t an occurpation for the millionaire ga-

loots,

But’tain’t so mighty wuss, my lad.

It’s a stiddy kind of bus’ness where there ain’t

no room for doubt

As to what’ull be the profit and where ye’re

cornin’ out.

For there ain’t no books and ledgers, and no

botherin’ with deals,

No dodgin’ law and lawyers and no stock con-

trivin’ steals.

Simply take a leaky dory and a basket and a

hoe,

And you’re fixed for doin’ bus’ness—ev’ry fel-

ler has a show.

When the old Atlantic ocean pulls away his

swashin’ tide

Why, the bank is there ‘before you and the

doors are opened wide;

The flats are there etarnal and you never find

the sign

Sayin’, “Bank has shet up business—pres’-

dent’s skipped acrost the line.”

Shuck away yer co’t and weskit, grab the clam-

hoe’s muddy haft,

And endorsed by grit and muscle you’ll get

cash on ev’ry draft.

For yer check-book’s there, the clam flat; and

yer pen, sir, is the hoe,

And accounts are balanced daily by the ocean’s

ebb and flow.

Then the climbin’, crawlin’ water rubs the dig-

gin’ marks away,

And the clams are jest as plenty when you

come another day.

And the sleep that follers labor kind of smooths’-

us, as the tide

Smooths the nickin’s on the clam-flats where

our busy hoes have pried.

So the nights are nights of comfort and I

mostly can forget

That the days are days of diggin’,—cold and

muddy, lame and wet.

For Fd rather have a backache than a rattled,

burnin’ brain,

And I guess I’m fair contented with the clam

flats here in Maine.

For I’m thinkin’ worried critters in the rushin’,

pushin’ jams

Likely’nough ain’t nigh so happy as we fellers

diggin’ clams.