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The brewers chuckle in their sleeves,
When election day draws near, Thinking of the votes they'll win
That will favor rum and beer.
And shall we have on our banner,
Free whisky and free tradeAnd let the weeping mothers mourn
O'er the now protection raid?
If the sufferers can't get justice,
By the men that vote each year, Let the ones that rock the cradle
Crush out old rum and beer!
PALL has covered the face of our land!
and felt, For whisky has deluged our country
But a star has risen so dazzling bright,
must be, To say by your votes you'll trample whisky!
It has reveled in wealth, been sumptuously It has robbed the poor wife of her clothing
and bread, It has tempted the young and the weak
passer by, Made demons of them in the gutter to lie.
It takes the money and brains of our men; The fruits of that monster lie in some barred
pen; 'Tis foremost in vice and dens of low fame, Its face is of brass, and whisky's its name.
It builds up saloons and the keepers get rich, While the men it has robbed are cast in
some ditch; But what do they care? for they want the
last bill, They will rob your dear children their pock
ets to fill!
And there is the druggist so wonderful wise, He'll fix up a foam that will dazzle your
"It Bu Ids up Saloons, and the Keepers get Rich, While the Men it has Robbed are Cast in Some Ditch." p. 160,