Rhymes of a Roughneck Part 3

US FOR SAM

While all Europe is a shambles And the whole world is at war, And half the land the sun s.h.i.+nes on Is drenched in human gore; When every Nation counts the men It knows are tried and true We send this message to you, Sam, "Alaska stands with you."

You never treated us quite right-- You grabbed away our coal, You reserved all our fire wood And what we've used, we've stole.

You soaked us on our cable tolls But we don't give a d.a.m.n Even at twenty-eight cents per word WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM.

You've squandered untold millions On the filthy Philippines, But you always made Alaskans Go and rustle for their beans.

And your black and tan possessions Tho they've cost you quite a few Can never be depended on, While we'd go thru h.e.l.l for you.

We're quite unused to luxuries And we've always played alone, When we asked for help to build our trails You handed us a stone.

You've four-flushed on the railroads But we don't care a d.a.m.n, If they monkey with the Eagle WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM.

You gave us lief to make some laws Then tied our hands behind; That gift to us was just the same As pictures to the blind.

Your laws all have a "joker,"

Made to catch some Sourdough, And it's hard to beat the game, Sam, The way it's framed up down below.

We've always been the dumping ground For your political misfits, But Sam, if you're in trouble We're willing to call it "quits."

We've never had an even break, But we don't care a d.a.m.n; If the Lion growls, remember this, WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM.

We're used to meeting troubles And if you put us to the test You'll find Alaska loves you, Sam, Far better than the rest.

But Sam, when this is over, As morning follows night, Pray give us your attention And set some matters right.

We need some decent cable rates, We need some decent mails, We need some decent coast lights And we need some decent trails.

You've given these to all the rest But we don't care a d.a.m.n; If it's full grown men you're needing WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM.

HOW LONG?

As long as lure o' placer gold Brings North the best ye breed, As long as tales of camps and trails Are planted with your seed, As long as red blood courses thru And warms adventure's sons, They'll sally forth, bound for the North, Misfortune's chosen ones.

As long as snow slides claim their toll And glaciers split and rend, And sweepers turn the flimsy craft And trails come to an end; As long as flas.h.i.+ng Northern Lights Flame in the Arctic sky, Your boldest ones, your bravest sons Come North to win or die.

As long as l.u.s.t of wealth obtains And gold will buy all things, And bank accounts but mark the line 'Twixt shovel stiffs and kings; As long as fancy rides free reined And distant fields seem fair, They'll seek the s.h.i.+p and make the trip To the land of Do and Dare.

As long as birds mate in the spring And moose run in the fall, And widows win the college youth And hold his heart in thrall; As long as chance for fortune's smile Can be centered in one throw, This is the truth, the Nation's youth Will hear the call and go.

As long as water runs down hill And smoke goes up from fire; As long as pleasure precedes pain And women love for hire; As long as Klondike widows Trail thru Outside Cafes Some one must stick on the lonesome creek For there's ever the "him" that pays.

As long as "huskies" curse the moon And creeks remain unnamed; As long as quicksands mask the bar And there's placer ground unclaimed; As long as "pay" is found and staked By some deep-sea-going Swede, That gypsy trace that marks our race Will out, then we stampede.

THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL

A man that's spent years knocking round "out in front"

Has most usually had lots of pals-- He's mixed up with pardners at various times And he's had his affairs with the gals.

Now, a pardner's peculiar in lots of his ways And he'll ditch you for various reasons, And a gal never knows straight up from twice And her mind seems to change with the seasons.

I've been in on good ground with pardners I've staked And I thought they were square, till I found They were trying to cross me, the miserable pups, And whipsaw me out of my ground.

I've had a few pards that would stand the hard grind And they'd stick through hard luck night and day; They were all you could ask while you rustled for grub, But they blew up when you uncovered the "pay."

Way back in the "eighties" when I'm just a kid, I crossed up with a breed gal I'd met One winter at Circle; she cleaned me that year And skipped out with all she could get.

I've fallen for females in half of the camps That's spread over this country up here, But "square guys" or "pretzels" I couldn't get by And none of them stuck for a year.

I got kind of discouraged and quit the she s.e.x And figgered I'd just herd with males, But it don't make no difference, I guess that I'm wrong, 'Cause there's always the parting of trails.

I've had lots of dogs, but a dog always dies, Or else the poor devil gets killed.

When you like 'em and lose 'em, their loss leaves a hole That seems for a time can't be filled.

So pardners and females and dogs is taboo And I know, 'cause I've fussed with 'em all.

There's only one pal that I know is true blue And it's that Thirty U.S. on the wall.

She's stood by my shoulder and stopped a brown bear And she keeps the cache full in the Fall; She's got the one talk that a claim jumper knows And she craves no attention at all.

I'm getting old now, and some sot in my ways, And I don't loosen up like I did.

I'm slower to make friends and slower to trust Than I used to be when I'm a kid.

So it's good-by to females and good-by to dogs, And good-by to pardners and all, For the only one pal that I find I can trust Is that Thirty U.S. on the wall.

FLOTSAM

The China Coast's a dumping ground And the South Sea gets its share Of the kind of men that don't make good The kind of man that never could The men that never care.

A worthless, careless drinking lot Combed out from between the Poles.

It's gin, and cards, a woman's breath, Laughter and love and sudden death And the Devil gets their souls.

It's a throwback to a weaker strain That's washed by the Tropic tide.

And a mixture of Dago and j.a.panese Latin and Jew and Portugese Crops out thru a sun-tanned hide.

But the Northland gets a sterner breed To fuse in its harder mould.

It's the breed of men that don't know fail; That's the breed of men that hit the trail For the fabled land of gold.

They're a st.u.r.dy, fearless, fighting lot And they play the game to win.

They fall for women, wine, the game And win or lose, they smile the same And to quit is their only sin.

Here the Norsman bunks with the canny Scot And the lad from the Emerald Isle Works side by side with Russ and Dane, North-bred men of brawn and brain, Men that are worth your while.

So me for the land of the Midnight Sun With the north lights in the sky, Me for the land that mothers this race Where you have to fight to hold your place, Where you can't quit till you die.

TRYING

The dream of the white man ever goes out To the fight that can never be won, And ever he plans to do the things That they say can never be done.

It's seldom he values the things that are What he craves he may never gain, Yet ever he tries, till the day he dies And then feels he has lived in vain.