Upon the road, a lucky man is he—
To see the country, live at good hotels,
And have a job with some variety.
The other fellow!—luckiest of men!—
Here's where creation surely made a slip:
The fellow on the road should push a pen,
The fellow at a desk should tote a grip.
We never shall be happy, truly glad,
We never shall be really comforted,
Until we trade the job we've always had