Oh, down here below we may go th' pace,
Loot, gut, palter, prey, maraud;
But here or There comes settling day,
For y' can't bamboozle God——
He'll send us back, like you, mal'mute,
Mangy an' whining—black with hell-soot——
Say, Bill, did y' see him nod?
RED JACKET, BULLY BOY HE IS
RED-JACKET
Where it's eighty below zero, there you'll find the Northland hero,
Red-Jacket; bully Boy he is—sure thing he fills the bill!
In that trackless waste of snow, where the Northern Lights hang low,
He is doing deeds of daring that would make your pulses thrill:—
An' we'll drink t' You, Red-Jacket;
The equator of your vest
Bunches all the pride an' glory
Of th' wild an' woolly West!
Red-Jacket does no askin', but he's ready for th' taskin'
When they sling him out his orders, with a hunk o' pemmican;
An' he'll travel day an' night after Red-man or bad white,
An' he'll go through hell-an'-blazes, but he'll never miss his man!
He laughs at death an' danger,
For th' chin-strap on his jaw
Is th' link that binds Creation:—
British fair-play, an' th'—LAW!