Hobo

A father's pride I used to know, A mother's love was mine; For swinish husks I let them go, And bedded with the swine. Since then I've come on evil days And most of life is hell; But even swine have winsome ways When once you know them well. One time I guessed I'd cease to roam, And greet the folks again; And so I rode the rods to home And through the window pane I saw them weary, worn and grey . . . I gazed from the garden gloom, And like sweet, shiny saints were they Int taht sweet, shiny room. D'ye think I hollored out: "Hullo!" The prodigal to play, And eat the fatted calf? Ah no, I cursed and ran away. My eyes were blears of whisky tears As to a pub I ran: But once at least I beat the beast And proved myself a man. Oh, some day I am going back, But I'll have gold galore; I'll wear a suit of sobber black And knock upon the door. I'l tell them how I've made a stake, We'll have the grandest time. . . . "Say, Mister, give a guy a break: For Chrissake, spare a dime."