UP AGAINST IT
When y're up against it, don't get feelin' blue;
Somewher' in this world of ours ther's a place f'r you.
Y'r jes' a round peg in a squar', y' ain't th' proper fit;
Keep turnin', twistin' every way—an' rise a little bit.
If we'd all we wanted in this whirlin' globe we're on,
W'y we'd all begin t' grouch—then begin t' yawn;
We'd get dead sick o' summer without a tech o' frost,
An' Ex-pe-ri-ence we got t' hev' regardless of th' cost.
Oh, th' smell o' fightin' powder, that's th' perfume f'r th' nose;
Without th' thorn in hidin' who'd care t' pluck th' Rose?
An' th' tears that wet y'r pillo' at night when y' go t' bed,
They'll wash away y'r troubles—an' y'r sins, tho' ruby red.
Boy, when y'r up against it, get y'r back agin' a fence
An' swing that good ol' we'pon we used t' call "horse sense":
Pitch off y'r coat—go at it jes' like a fightin' man;
Throw up y'r head—glad y' ain't dead—
Then sluice y'r bench—an' pan!
Say, when y'r up against it, don't get feelin' blue;
Ther's room t' spare, ther's plenty air; ain't that enough f'r you?
Every bed-rock wash-up ain't all gold t' th' pan,
But life can't be a "failure" if y' play th' game a MAN!