When luck was out, and when the food was scarce,
My courage would nearly fail,
But he’d comfort me with his joyous little bark
And a wag of his little tail.—Chorus.
After years of toil, I a mighty nugget found,
And I buried it where I slept,
But one stormy night, as I slumbered so deep,
’Neath my tent a dim form crept—
’Twas my false friend Jim, and he on murder was bent,
His hand held a gleaming knife,