In all trades I’ve been a meddler,
Chorus. Foolin’ my life away:
I started life as a Yankee peddler,
Fiddlin’ and foolin’ away.
Didn’t find the trade encouragin’
So I turned a Dey Street New York surgeon.
Next I’d a shopman for employer,
And then a Philadelphia lawyer.
After that I was a smuggler,
Then I travelled as a juggler.
Next I was a collector’s dunner,
And after that an emigrant runner.
Then I laboured with some bakers,
Next, for a year, I joined the Shakers;
But they found me too defective,
So for a while I turned detective.
Then I tried my hand as teacher,
And next became a Blue Light preacher.
Then I was one of the ——’s editors,
But had to cut to dodge my creditors.
Faking oranges I tried next on,
Then for a while I dug as a sexton.
For seven trips I was a slaver,
Then, as a barber, I turned shaver.
After that I worked as pirate,
For all the naval sharps to fire at.
Then nigger minstrel, then a sorter,
Off an’ on, shorthand reporter.
Then I took to readin’ lectures,
And after that to paintin’ pictures.
Next as drummer I did chaffer,
And then I worked as photográpher.
Then for a while I run a dairy,
And next I turned apothecäry.
Then stuck pla-cards as a billist,
And so became a patent pill-ist.
Finding all other trades deceiving,
For a time I took to thieving.
Now I’m a Pacific purser,
And don’t think I can do any worser,
Foolin’ my life away.
“Yes, that’s the way,” said Jones, “that some go squandrin’,
Which minds me that we too must now be wand’rin’:”
“And I,” quoth Brown, “must be aboard and early;
But first of all I’m going to see my girley;
She’d blow a storm if I should fail to meet her:
She is, I vum, an awful breezy creeter,
A gale in petticoats, and one that’s stinging;
I’ll sing a song on that—to end our singing.
You’ve known the girl-wind, boys—I never doubt it;
And here’s a ballad which is all about it:”