timeforINRI

  I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought, And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out; I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow -- I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now. Oh it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin', in flies an' dust an' heat, Or it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-a-mpin' through mud and slush 'n sleet; It's tramp an' tramp for tucker -- one everlastin' strife, An' wearin' out yer boots an' heart in the wastin' of yer life. They whine o' lost an' wasted lives in idleness and crime -- I've wasted mine for twenty years, and grafted all the time And never drunk the stuff I earned, nor gambled when I shore -- But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more. A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin' day, All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away; The