The shades of night was fallin’ slow <br />As through New York a guy did go <br />And nail on ev’ry barroom door <br />A card that this here motter bore: <br />'No beer, no work.' <br /> <br />His brow was sad, his mouth was dry; <br />It was the first day of July, <br />And where, all parched and scorched it hung, <br />These words was stenciled on his tongue: <br />'No beer, no work.' <br /> <br />'Oh, stay,' the maiden said, 'and sup <br />This malted milk from this here cup.' <br />A shudder passed through that there guy, <br />But with a moan he made reply: <br />'No beer, no work.' <br /> <br />At break of day, as through the town <br />The milkman put milk bottles down, <br />Onto one stoop a sort of snore <br />Was heard, and then was heard no more— <br />'No beer, no work.' <br /> <br />The poor old guy plumb dead was found <br />And planted in the buryin’ ground, <br />Still graspin’ in his hand of ice <br />Them placards with this sad device: <br />'No beer, no work.'<br /><br />Ellis Parker Butler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-beer-no-work/
