Old Rosin the Bow.
I have travel’d this wide world over,
And now to another I’ll go.
I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau.
Chorus.—To welcome old Rosin the Bow,
To welcome old Rosin the Bow,
I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Bow.
When I’m dead and laid out on the counter,
A voice you will hear from below,
Singing out, “Whiskey and water,
To drink to old Rosin the Bow.”
To drink, &c.
And when I am dead, I reckon,
The ladies will all want to, I know,
Just lift off the lid of the coffin,
And look at old Rosin the Bow.
And look, &c.
You must get some dozen good fellows,
And stand them all round in a row,
And drink out of half-gallon bottles,
To the name of old Rosin the Bow.
To the name, &c.
Get four or five jovial young fellows,
And let them all staggering go,
And dig a deep hole in the meadow,
And in it toss Rosin the Bow.
And in it, &c.
Then get you a couple of tombstones,
Place one at my head and my toe,
And do not fail to scratch on it
The name of old Rosin the Bow.
The name, &c.
I feel the grim tyrant approaching,
That cruel implacable foe,
Who spares neither age nor condition,
Nor even old Rosin the Beau.
Nor even, &c.