Yes, Jim hez gone—ye didn't know?
He's fightin' at the front.
It's him as bears 'his country's hopes'.
An' me as bears the brunt.
Wen war bruk out Jim 'lowed he'd go—
He allus loved a scrap—
Ye see, the home warn't jest the place
Fer sech a lively chap.
O' course, the work seems ruther hard;
The kids is ruther small—
It ain't that I am sore at Jim,
I envy him—that's all.
He doesn't know what he's about
An' cares still less, does Jim...
With all his loose an' roarin' ways
I wisht that I was him.
It makes him glad an' drunken-like
That music an' the smoke;
An' w'en they shout, the whole thing seems
A picnic an' a joke.
Oh, yellin' puts a heart in ye,
An' stren'th into yer blows—
I wisht that I could hears those cheers
Washin' the neighbors clo'es...
It's funny how some things work out—
Life is so strange, Lord love us—
Here am I, workin' night an' day
To keep a roof above us;
An' Jim is somewhere in the south,
An' Jim ain't really bad,
A-runnin' round an' raisin' Cain,
An' stabbin' some kid's dad.
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But that's w'at men are made for—eh?
W'at else is there for me
But workin' on till Jim comes home,
Sick of his bloody spree.