Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/510

118 Oh, Johnny Marine he shoulders arms
 * And he won't get out of your way,

And he wears white gloves at the cabin door
 * And he thinks he's hell-to-pay.

He may talk back to Forecs'le Jack,
 * But he's meek as ever you found

If you come along with a stripe and a bird
 * And happen to be brass-bound.

I'm a-goin' to be brass-bound,

There's times when I think I've had enough,
 * My cheek 'gainst a bag o' coal,

All sweat and dust, full a half inch crust,
 * And a curse laid on my soul.

There's kinds o' work you'd like to shirk—
 * Dead sure to come around,

And the way I can tell you to miss them tricks
 * Is to get yourself brass-bound.

I'm a-goin' to be brass-bound,

a feller in the Black Gang
 * Aboard the "Ampertrite";

Bill Sweeny is the feller's name,
 * You can bet that Bill's all right.

He's seen a heap o' the world, has Bill,
 * He's fired all there is to fire,

From a lime-juicer tramp To a brand new Cramp
 * With a stack like Trinity spire.

Bill Sweeny is a feller
 * With stars agin his name;

But Bill he gets his liberty
 * When any gets the same.

He stands right in with them all, does Bill,
 * And they lets him go ashore,

Though he'd smuggled a swig To a lad in the brig
 * And he's sure to smuggle in more.

Bill Sweeny is a feller
 * You won't back on his looks,

He's pitted up with small-pox
 * And he ain't much read in books;