Songs of Friendship | Page 5

. . . . . . . . . . . . 177 REACH YOUR
HAND TO ME--TAILPIECE . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 THE DEAD
JOKE AND THE FUNNY MAN--HEADPIECE . . . . . . . 180 THE
DEAD JOKE AND THE FUNNY MAN--TAILPIECE . . . . . . . 181
AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING--HEADPIECE . . . . . . . . . . . 182
OLD INDIANY--HEADPIECE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 BUT,
FELLERS, SHE'S A LEAKY STATE! . . . . . . . . . . . 187 OLD
INDIANY--TAILPIECE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
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RILEY SONGS OF FRIENDSHIP
[Illustration: Back from town--headpiece]
BACK FROM TOWN

Old friends allus is the best,
Halest-like and heartiest:
Knowed us
first, and don't allow
We're so blame much better now!
They was
standin' at the bars
When we grabbed "the kivvered kyars"
And lit
out fer town, to make
Money--and that old mistake!
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We thought then the world we went
Into beat "The Settlement,"

And the friends 'at we'd make there
Would beat any anywhere!--

And they do--fer that's their biz:
They beat all the friends they is--

'Cept the raal old friends like you
'At staid at home, like I'd ort to!
W'y, of all the good things yit
I ain't shet of, is to quit
Business, and
git back to sheer
These old comforts waitin' here--
These old
friends; and these old hands
'At a feller understands;
These old
winter nights, and old
Young-folks chased in out the cold!
Sing "Hard Times'll come ag'in
No More!" and neighbors all jine in!

Here's a feller come from town
Wants that-air old fiddle down

From the chimbly!--Git the floor
Cleared fer one cowtillion more!--

It's poke the kitchen fire, says he,
And shake a friendly leg with
me!
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[Illustration: A hobo voluntary--headpiece]
A HOBO VOLUNTARY
Oh, the hobo's life is a roving life;
It robs pretty maids of their heart's
delight--
It causes them to weep and it causes them to mourn
For
the life of a hobo, never to return.
The hobo's heart it is light and free,
Though it's Sweethearts all,
farewell, to thee!--
Farewell to thee, for it's far away
The homeless
hobo's footsteps stray.

In the morning bright, or the dusk so dim,
It's any path is the one for
him!
He'll take his chances, long or short,
For to meet his fate with
a valiant heart.
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Oh, it's beauty mops out the sidetracked-car,
And it's beauty-beaut' at
the pigs-feet bar;
But when his drinks and his eats is made
Then the
hobo shunts off down the grade.
He camps near town, on the old crick-bank,
And he cuts his name on
the water-tank--
He cuts his name and the hobo sign,--
"Bound for
the land of corn and wine!"
(Oh, it's I like friends that he'ps me through,
And the friends also that
he'ps you, too,--
Oh, I like all friends, 'most every kind
But I don't
like friends that don't like mine.)
There's friends of mine, when they gits the hunch,
Comes a swarmin'
in, the blasted bunch,--
"Clog-step Jonny" and "Flat-wheel Bill"

And "Brockey Ike" from Circleville.
With "Cooney Ward" and "Sikes the Kid"
And old "Pop
Lawson"--the best we had--
The rankest mug and the worst for lush

And the dandiest of the whole blame push.
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[Illustration: He camps near town on the old crick-bank]
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Oh, them's the times I remembers best
When I took my chance with
all the rest,
And hogged fried chicken and roastin' ears, too,
And
sucked cheroots when the feed was through.
Oh, the hobo's way is the railroad line,
And it's little he cares for

schedule time;
Whatever town he's a-striken for
Will wait for him
till he gits there.
And whatever burg that he lands in
There's beauties there just thick
for him--
There's beauty at "The Queen's Taste Lunch-stand," sure,

Or "The Last Chance Boardin' House" back-door.
He's lonesome-like, so he gits run in,
To git the hang o' the world
ag'in;
But the laundry circles he moves in there
Makes him sigh for
the country air,--
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So it's Good-by gals! and he takes his chance
And wads hisself
through the workhouse-fence:
He sheds the town and the railroad, too,

And strikes mud roads for a change of view.
The jay drives by on his way to town,
And looks on the hobo in high
scorn,
And so likewise does the farmhands stare--
But what the
haids does the hobo care!
He hits the pike, in the summer's heat
Or the winter's cold, with its
snow and sleet--
With a boot on one foot, and one shoe--
Or he goes
barefoot, if he chooses to.
But he likes the best, when the days is warm,
With his bum
Prince-Albert on his arm--
He likes to size up a farmhouse where

They haint no man nor bulldog there.
Oh, he gits his meals wherever he can,
So natchurly he's a handy
man--
He's a handy man both day and night,
And he's always blest
with