The Toper's Lament
The Toper’s Lament. A Doleful Ditty.
It’s come all you bold drunkards, and hear to my song
It is founded on fact, and it won’t keep you long,
’Tis of my misfortune in the hiring of rooms,
In that blasted old castle the Centre street Tombs,
’Twas a cruel policeman a prowling around,
He diskivered this corpus lay stretch’d on the ground,
Says he to his comrade, “This chap will take cold,
Unless we conwey him to the station-house bold.
So they picked me up gently—they know me full well
And locked me all night in the station-house cell,
In the morning I wakened, and rubbing my eyes
Found out my sitiwation, to my great surprise.
An officer took me right down to the jail,
And he kept a close watch for fear of leg bale
In default of the payment of ten dollars fine,
I was sent down below, in the “jug” to repine.
Now all you bold drunkards, dont wisit here twice,
To be bullied by niggers, and feasted on rice,
Beware of bad liquors that costs but three cents,
Ten days or ten dollars for every offence.