And walk to the bar in your stocking-feet.
It’s a blank of a note that a man with chink
Can’t prance to the rail and get his drink,
But it’s five and costs if ye mar the paint,
And ten if the feller that makes complaint
Gets mad at a playful push in the eyes
And goes into court with a lot of lies.
It’s ten if ye sliver a steam-bo’t’s deck
—There ain’t no argue—it’s right in the neck.
And they soak you, too, on the railroad train;