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The Prodigal Son.... Here come I to my own again, Fed, forgiven and
known again, Claimed by bone of my bone again And cheered by flesh
of my flesh. The fatted calf is dressed for me, But the husks have
greater rest for me, I think my pigs will be best for me, So I'm
off to the Yards afresh. Ã‚ I never was very refined,
you see, (And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see) But there's
no reproach among swine, d'you see, For being a bit of a swine. So
I'm off with wallet and staff to eat The bread that is three parts
chaff to wheat, But glory be! - there's a laugh to it, Which isn't
the case when we dine. Ã‚ My father glooms and advises
me, My brother sulks and despises me, And Mother catechises me Till
I want to go out and swear. And, in spite of the butler's gravity,
I know that the servants have it I Am a monster of moral depravity,
And I'm damned if I think it's fair! Ã‚ I wasted my
substance, I know I did, On riotous living, so I did, But there's
nothing on record to show I did Worse than my betters have done.
They talk of the money I spent out there - They hint at the pace
that I went out there - But they all forget I was sent out there
Alone as a rich man's son. So I wasa mark for plunder at once, And
lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once, But I didn't give up and
knock under at once, I worked in the Yards, for a spell, Where I
spent my nights and my days with hogs. And shared their milk and
maize with hogs, Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs
And - I have that knowledge to sell! So back I go to my job again,
Not so easy to rob again, Or quite so ready to sob again On any
neck that's around. I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you! God bless
you, Mater! I'll write to you! I wouldn't be impolite to you, But,
Brother, you are a hound!
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