The James T. Callow Folklore Archive

MY DARLING OLD STAG

YOU MAY SING OF YOUR ROSE COVERED BOWERS;
YOU MAY RAVE OF YOUR HILLS AND YOUR VALES;
YOU MAY TALK ABOUT SWEET SCENTED FLOWERS,
OR TEMPT WITH ARABIAN NIGHT TALES;
ALL ARE FEEBLE AND WEAK TO MY SONG;
ALL ARE ONLY TATTERS AND RAGS;
I'VE A THEME THAT CLINGS TO ME STRONG,
'TIS THIS DEAR PAIR OF OLD LEATHER "STAGS."
WHEN MY DAY OF HARD LABOR IS DONE,
AND MY SUPPER IS STOWED 'NEATH MY BELT;
WHEN THE "BUNK CAMP" IS BRIMMING WITH FUN,
AND THE FIRE IN THE STOVE WOULD YOU MELT;
O IT'S THEN WITH MY PIPE SMOKING FREE,
I LIST TO THE SHANTY BOYS' GAGS;
I JOIN IN THE FROLIC AND GLEE,
WITH MY HOOFS IN MY DARLING OLD "STAGS."
THESE "STAGS" THEY WERE ONCE LONG TOP BOOTS
THE TOPS I CUT OFF LONG AGO.
THERE'S NOTHING NOW LEFT BUT THE ROOTS,
STILL THEY'RE HANDY TO WEAR OR TO THROW,
AT SOME SHANTY BOY SNORING IN BED,
OR A WATCH PEDDLING SON OF A WAG;
I CAN SHY THEM SO NEAT AT A HEAD
FOR CONVENIENT AT TIMES IS A "STAG."

Submitter comment: SUNG BY AN ELDER OF THE LOGGING CAMP ON SATURDAY
NIGHT.

Where learned: MICHIGAN ; SAGINAW

Date learned: 03-04-1990