JACK OF ALL TRADES

In all trades I’ ve been a meddler,

Chorus. Foolin’ my life away:

I started life as a Yankee peddler,

Fiddlin’ and foolin’ away.

Didn’ t find the trade encouragin’

So I turned a Dey Street New York surgeon.

Next I’ d a shopman for employer,

And then a Philadelphia lawyer.

After that I was a smuggler,

Then I travelled as a juggler.

Next I was a collector’ s dunner,

And after that an emigrant runner.

Then I laboured with some bakers,

Next, for a year, I joined the Shakers;

But they found me too defective,

So for a while I turned detective.

Then I tried my hand as teacher,

And next became a Blue Light preacher.

Then I was one of the ——’ s editors,

But had to cut to dodge my creditors.

Faking oranges I tried next on,

Then for a while I dug as a sexton.

For seven trips I was a slaver,

Then, as a barber, I turned shaver.

After that I worked as pirate,

For all the naval sharps to fire at.

Then nigger minstrel, then a sorter,

Off an’ on, shorthand reporter.

Then I took to readin’ lectures,

And after that to paintin’ pictures.

Next as drummer I did chaffer,

And then I worked as photográpher.

Then for a while I run a dairy,

And next I turned apothecäry.

Then stuck pla-cards as a billist,

And so became a patent pill-ist.

Finding all other trades deceiving,

For a time I took to thieving.

Now I’ m a Pacific purser,

And don’ t think I can do any worser,

Foolin’ my life away.

“Yes, that’ s the way,” said Jones, “that some go squandrin’,

Which minds me that we too must now be wand’ rin’:”

“And I,” quoth Brown, “must be aboard and early;

But first of all I’ m going to see my girley;

She’ d blow a storm if I should fail to meet her:

She is, I vum, an awful breezy creeter,

A gale in petticoats, and one that’ s stinging;

I’ ll sing a song on that — to end our singing.

You’ ve known the girl-wind, boys — I never doubt it;

And here’ s a ballad which is all about it:”