Here's Luck
By Henry Lawson
Old Time is tramping close to-day, you hear his bluchers fall,
A mighty change is on the way, an God protect us all;
Some dustll fly from beery coats, at least its been declared.
Im glad that wimin has the votes, but just a trifle scared.
Im just a trifle scared, For why? The wimin mean to rule;
It makes me feel like days gone by when I was caned at school.
The days of men is nearly dead, of double moons and stars,
Theyll soon put out our pipes, tis said, an close the public bars.
No more well take a glass of ale when pushed with care an strife,
Anchuckle home with that old tale we used to tell the wife.
Well laugh anjoke an sing no more with jolly beery chums,
An shout Heres luck! while waitin for the luck that never comes.
Did we prohibit swillin tea clean out of common-sense
Or legislate on gossipin across a backyard fence?
Did we prohibit bustles, or the hoops when they was here?
The wimin never think of this, they want to stop our beer.
The track o life is dry enough, an crossed with many a rut,
But, oh! well find it long an rough when all the pubs is shut,
When all the pubs is shut, an gone the doors we used to seek,
An we go toilin, thirstin on through Sundays all the week.
For since the days when pubs was inns, in years gone pastn far,
Poor sinful souls have drowned their sins an sorrers at the bar;
An though at times it led to crimes, an debt, and such complaints,
I scarce dare think about the time when all mankind is saints.
Twould make the bones of Bacchus leap an break his coffin lid;
And Burnss ghost would wail an weep as Bobby never did.
But let the preachers preach in style, an rave and rant, n buck,
I rather guess theyll hear awhile the old war-cry: Heres Luck!
The world might wobble round the sun, an all the banks go bung,
But pipesll smoke an liquor run while Auld Lang Syne is sung.
While men are driven through the mill, an flinty times is struck,
Theyll find a private entrance still! Heres Luck, old man, Heres Luck!