﻿JUST BEFORE THE PANIC MOTHER! 
 
Good bye, master, I must leave- you, 
Something tells me I must go. 
For— you know, I can’t deceive you, 
Going-wage is too darn low. 
Yes—you say that you will feed me 
If I split a (hardwood) card. 
Do not to temptation lead me— 
I’m not toiling for my board. 
 
Tho my trials have been sundry 
I must e’er disdain to moan, 
And altho I’m “good and hungry” 
I would leave your work “alone.” 
Plans of men and lice miscarry 
And I know just how you feel, 
But, you see, if I’m to marry 
I must earn a double meal. 
 
If I work for bread and lodging 
While the sun is high and warm, 
It would cause me sundry dodging 
Thru the winter’s cold and storm. 
I must have the “All that’s in it,” 
In the labor that I sell— 
For one cannot tell what minute 
It may start—to rain like hell. 
 
One more question, boss, one only, 
As you count your wealth, untold: 
Would you have me save “bologna” 
‘Gainst the day when I am old? 
Now, we understand each other— 
And we’ll play the “game of grab.” 
But— please do— recall my brother; 
I’m too old to be a scab. 
T-Bone Slim.