Scotty

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

Scotty's dead - Of course he is!
Jes' that same old luck of his! -
Ever sence we went cahoots
He's be'n first, you bet yer boots!
When our schoolin' first begun,
Got two whippin's to my one:
Stold and smoked the first cigar:
Stood up first before the bar,
Takin' whisky-straight - and me
Wastin' time on "blackberry"!

Beat me in the Army, too,
And clean on the whole way through!
In more scrapes around the camp,
And more troubles, on the tramp:
Fought and fell there by my side
With more bullets in his hide,
And more glory in the cause, -
That's the kind o' man he was!
Luck liked Scotty more'n me. -
I got married: Scotty, he
Never even would apply
Fer the pension-money I
Had to beg of "Uncle Sam" -
That's the kind o' cuss I am! -
Scotty allus first and best -
Me the last and ornriest!
Yit fer all that's said and done -
All the battles fought and won -
We hain't prospered, him ner me -
Both as pore as pore could be, -
Though we've allus, up tel now,
Stuck together anyhow -
Scotty allus, as I've said,
Luckiest - And now he's dead!

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