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A Plea to Yoters.
you noble voters,
And less of rum and beer.
The brewers they have heaped their cash; The pile looms up
year, But the wife and children have been robbed,
By their sale of rum and beer.
They say their business is upright!
But that sounds very queer, For count the graves untimely filled · By their sale of rum and beer.
And must the brewers rule the vote,
Of our blood-bought country dear; While weeping mothers see their sons
Cast down by rum and beer?
There's many questions that are great
But they must take the rear,
Is to crush old rum and beer.
The cry goes up on every hand,
Let the tippler have his dram; Let him drink and run his course
As quickly as he can!
If he was the one that suffered all,
And not his children dear, The curse would not be half so great,
That is caused by rum and beer.
We see a solid wall of shops filled
With a tempting bait,
To tempt a man to sin.
And yet two hundred drunkards
Die each day.
They're quickly tumbled in.
ague chill, The only way to deal with both,
Just use a sure and certain pill.
For years they tried to compromise,
And regulate the law,
A great and crushing flaw.
"No more you'll see
The bondman and the free!”
If there's any truth or justice,
Hovering o'er this hemisphere, Shield the wan and weeping mothers,
That are crushed by rum and beer.