Till the last soul got ashore.
All boats have their day on the Mississip,
And her day come at last.
The Movastar was a better boat,
But the Belle she wouldn’t be passed;
And so come tearin’ along that night,—
The oldest craft on the line,
With a nigger squat on her safety valve,
And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.
The fire burst out as she clared the bar,