No Beer, No Work

The shades of night was fallin slow     As through New York a guy did go     And nail on evry 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.