I used to make five bucks a fling
To give as good as I was given.
But when I felt too fighting gay,
And tried to be a dinger-donger,
My second, Mike Muldoon. would say:
‘Go easy, kid; you’ll stay the longer.’
When I was on the Yukon trail
The boys would warn, when things were bleakest,
The weakest link’s the one to fail –
Said I: ‘by Gosh! I won’t be weakest.’
So I would strain with might and main,
Striving to prove I was the stronger,
Till Sourdough Sam would snap: ‘Goddam!
Go easy, son; you” last the longer.’
So all you lads of eighty odd
Take my advice – you’ll never rue it:
Be quite prepared to meet your God,
But don’t stampede yourselves to do it.
Just cultivate a sober gait;
Don’t emulate the lively conger;
No need to race, slow down the pace,
Go easy, Pals – you’ll linger longer.

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