The driller mutter’d, as he stagger’d with unsteady gait,
“There is no evil mixture here, I took my whisky straight.”
Of all uncertain kinds of biz
An oilman’s most uncertain is;
To-day, perhaps, his anguish’d soul
Laments because of a dry-hole;
He tries again, and who can tell
But he may strike a flowing-well?
Sound money? Yes indeed; no oilman has a doubt
The coin that jingles is the “soundest” money out.