And the gold stream only dribbles in a keg-o’-treacle way—
Hello, on top! Hello!
Is’t frost up there or snow?
I’d back you ’gainst a fun’ral any day for goin’ slow!
[68]
]Some day when we’ve her bones picked bare, and got her gutted clean,
We’ll travel over East, and see what yaller dust can buy;
And old Bill and me, I reckon, will be right and all serene,
If we only keep our thirst at bay, and keep our powder dry—
Hello, on top! Hello!
Let down the rope, and throw