A FRIEND of mine said yesterday: ‘There goes a man across the way
Who paid ten thousand dollars for a home a week ago;
He owns an automobile now, a saddle horse and keeps a cow,
And smokes cigars at fifty cents a throw.
He is a lucky chap, indeed! He got up something that we need,
The way he’s making money is a shame;
It’s not five years ago, I swear, he only had one suit to wear
And didn’t have a dollar to his name.
‘There goes a man immensely rich, who was a digger in the ditch
Ten years ago, but fortune came his way;
I cannot now recall to mind just what it is that he designed,
But he got wealth and glory in a day.
How fortunate some fellows are! They’re born beneath a lucky star —
I knew him when he didn’t have a cent;
And now he owns his house and lot — Too bad, that’s something I’ve forgot,
I don’t know now just what he did invent.’
I said: ‘Some fellows strike it rich, but somehow, I’ve a notion, which
Is that you never saw a lucky shirk;
I never knew a lazy moke that wasn’t nearly always broke —
The men who get the money have to work.
I do not view with discontent, nor call them lucky who invent
The things that quickly bring great fortunes in;
The poor men of five years ago, who now possess a ‘wad of dough’
But prove to me that industry can win.’
