Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1922-06-02
FRIDAY, JUNE 2, 1922

We care not what the teamsters
charge,
To pull us out of mire and ditch.
AS we go sailing through the breeze,
AS fast as any railway train,
Our hearts are light we feel at ease,
Forget cur troubles and our pain.
It sure is fun to, lay and Top.
In the back seat of Packard car.
For though the old highway is rough,
You hardly even feel a jar.
All through the long month of July,
We hardly ever see rain.
And not a cloud hangs in the sky,
To tempt us with a wet refrain.
And everywhere along the roads,
The dust is piled up ankle high,
1t gets into our nose and mouth,
And makes our thirsty palates dry.
Oh, we'll say it is a shame,
We will be glad when winter comes,
To get rid of this darn old dust,
That puts our lungs upon the bum
The sun is sending forth a glow.
That fills our underwear with sweat,
And makes the perspiration flow
The long hot days of summer time,
That scorch us nearly to the hide,
And makes us long for snow again,
And winds that sweep our country
side
A big fat man with Redeemed face,
Putting and blistered from the heat.
He says | wish was fifty below,
This damn old weather can't be beat
A man may toll all summer long.
Upon his wood pile, farm or truck,
And meath the raging, burning sun,
That eats the hide off from his back.
His socks and underwear are wet,
He has to change them every night
1t makes him fidgety and fret,
The way he grumbles is a fright.
The only people on this earth,
Who do not grumble, kick and groan,
Are those who lie beneath the SOIL
Beneath a heavy chunk of stone.
With them the seasons come and go,
A thousand years go quickly by.
They do not care how deep the snow,
Or if the day is hot and dry.
A lot of people on this earth,
Are just as dead as those beneath,
They are not a darn bit of worth,
They all have troubles that never
cease.
They growl at every little thing,
And kick and grumble all the time.
They put on many fancy airs,
When many aren't worth dime.
The hobo in the winter time,
Without a refuge, home or shack.
Does spend his time out in the cold,
Along the dreary railway track.
No matter if the winds are wild
And if it's forty-five below,
The poor old hobo must spend,
The winter in the dreary snow
He has no time to wash his clothes,
He has no time to take shave.
He cannot see picture show,
Or drink the moon that's all the rage
On cold and snappy winter days,
You see him huddled in box cars,
You poor old hobo it's too bad,
You sure have plenty of hardship
scars.
And out on the Pacific coast,
Where movie stars are all the rage,
And where the sun does ever shine,
Above the cactus plant and sage
The hobo lies in sweet repose,
All through the January sleet,
He does not even soil his clothes,
Stretched out in woodlands clean and
neat
And when he wants to take a bath,
He stops beside a placid stream.
The water it is cool and warm,
1t gives him happy, peaceful dreams
oh, hobo in the wintry north,
Why don't you hustle for this Cline
Where wintry blasts are never felt
And birds are chirping all the time
But it makes no difference where we
roam,
No matter how far we may go.
There's always something to kick
about, :
Our hearts are always filed With
Woe
Wisconsin has it's sleet and ice,
And California its big earth quakes.
While all the western plains are
filled,
With ants, cockroaches, bugs and
snakes.
In California there are fields,
Where one would like to lay and
sleep,
And be woke up by rattle snakes,
That up your trouser legs do creep.
The best thing for us all to do,
Is live in the old Badger state.
And be quite happy, never feel blue.
And you will reach the Golden gate.
FRED j. YOUNG,
Conover, Wis.
Monarchies Against Republics.
There is no instance in history OF
the defeat of republican state by an