The crib that wos respectable
Among the higher classes,
We cracked in style, like gentlemen.
And took the spoons and glasses.
But when a crib wos something low—
An author's, or a preacher's—
We had too much of self-respect
To recognize the creatures.
If taking watches wos the lay,
Or handkerchers, or purses,
We never noticed wulgar nobs,
Nor wictims of rewerses.
But things is changed since Johnny died,
And our profession's fallen
So werry low, it really ain't
A gentlemanly callin'.
There's some as once wos gentlemen
When cracksmen's art was balmy,
Now shame us all by fig'ring as
Contractors for the army!
What wonder, when our former pal,
A vulgar, sneakin' knave is,
They hang our pictures in a row
With Floyd, and Cobb, and Davis?
But just as if this wa'n't enough
To make us hide our faces,
A man we once look'd up to, all,
Must add to our disgraces;
A base, degenerate, shameless cove
Has sullied our profession,
By stoopin' to a lay that is
Depraved beyond expression.
He's activally come and went—
The werry thought's unmannin'—
He's activally gone and robbed
Ex-President Buchanan!