THE POOR MARRIED MAN
You may talk of the joys of the sweet honey-moon,
I’ll agree they are nice while they last,
But in most every case they are over too soon,
And numbered with the things of the past,
The trials and the troubles are sure to begin,
Although you may do what you can,
You’ll wish you were out of the clatter and the din,
That follows the poor married man.
With the racket and the muss, the trouble and the fuss,
His face all haggard and wan,
You can tell by his clothes whereever he goes,
That he is a poor married man.
He works all the day, and he tries to be gay,
Forgetting his worry and care,
He whistles it down as he goes through the town,
Though his heart is full of dispair,
His very last cent must be spent out for rent,
While at home there is Mollie and Dan,
Both crying for shoes, and it gives him the “blues”,
To think he’s a poor married man.
When he goes to bed with his poor tired head,
He lies on the edge of the rail,
The colic and the croup makes him jump up and whoop,
Like a dog with a can to his tail,
He must walk, he must talk, he must sing, he must rock,
He must run for the water and the fan
He must bounce, he must leap, he must do without sleep,
If he is a poor married man.
From his mother-in-law he gets nothing but jaw,
No matter how hard he may try,
To keep her in trim for she’ll light into him
And all of his wishes defy,
He’s a fool, he’s a brute and he never can suit,
Though he does just the best that he can,
He had better be dead for it then could be said,
He’s at rest now a poor married man.