No Beer No Work

 The shades of night was fallin’ slow
As through New York a guy did go
 And nail on ev’ry barroom door
 A card that this here motter bore:
 “No beer, no work.
”

His brow was sad, his mouth was dry;
It was the first day of July,
 And where, all parched and scorched it hung,
 These words was stenciled on his tongue:
 “No beer, no work.
”

“Oh, stay,” the maiden said, “and sup
This malted milk from this here cup.
”
 A shudder passed through that there guy,
 But with a moan he made reply:
 “No beer, no work.
”

At break of day, as through the town
The milkman put milk bottles down,
 Onto one stoop a sort of snore
 Was heard, and then was heard no more—
 “No beer, no work.
”

The poor old guy plumb dead was found
And planted in the buryin’ ground,
 Still graspin’ in his hand of ice
 Them placards with this sad device:
 “No beer, no work.
”

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