Songs Of The Camp                                                                                                   
               ----------
           The Mucker.

Muckin' away! Muckin' away!
Maybe you think I ain't earnin' my pay,
Three and a half--and a pain in my back
Pushing a car on a hell of a track.
Wouldn't you like to be me, fellow, say?
Muckin' away! Muckin' away!

Muckin' away! Muckin' away!
Sweatin' like hades for eight hours a day
Down on the twenty-one-hundred--oh, well!
You'd like to be me, I imagine--like hell!--
I'm a bloated aristocrat, lazy and gay!
Muckin' away! Muckin' away!

                         ----------------
                The Teamster.

Gid ap! you slow foot, crawlin'
An' lazy critters you,
This ain't no hearse yer haulin' .
Gid ap! Vamoose! Skidoo!
Cut out this lazy laggin'!
Hi! Mosey now look spry!
Jest yank along the wagon,
Hi! Hit-'er-up now, Hi!

Crack! Gosh, I hate to whip yuh;
Go! darn yer lazy hides,
But on this sort uv trip, yuh
Must mind the man who rides.
I'll do the heavy brakin',
You hosses needn't try.
Gid ap! Quit belly achin'!
Hi! Hit-'er-up now! Hi!

                      ------------------
                  The Shift Boss

I am the boss of the, whole dam mine,
I draw good pay and I like it fine.

                      -------------------
                  The Miner (2)

Deep in the mines I fare,
Only a candle's glow
Shows with a fitful flare
What is the path I go.
Drilling the holes I blast,
Getting the copper ore,
Tapping the riches vast
Nature has kept in store.

Down in the heat and murk,
Far from the light of day,
Doing a man's good work,
Getting a man's good pay,
Knowing the work I do,
Doing the work I know
Glad when the shift is through,
Back to my home I go!

                    -----------------
           The Hoisting Engineer

Bells are the things I go by, hoisting a cage or skip,
Everything'd go to blazes if ever my hand should slip;
I'd hate to be where a cage is if the Engineer "Let 'er rip."

How do you like my engines? Beautiful throbbing things,
That yank a cage from the bottom so rapidly that it "zings,"
Making the man who's on it feel like a bird on wings.

I am a regular monarch; high in the air I stand,
The lives of many miners I hold in my steady hand--
It isn't for me to say it, but a manin my place needs sand!


Published in: The Butter Inter Mountain - June 30, 1906





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