We Are Anchored By the Roadside, Jim
We are anchored by the roadside, Jim, as we've ofttimes before
When you and I were weary from sacking on the shore
The moon shone down in splendor, Jim, it shone on you and I
And the little stars were shining when we drank the old jug dry
But those was the good old days, those good old days of yore
When Murphy ran the tavern and Burnsy kept the store
When the whiskey flowed as free, brave boys, as the waters in the
brook
And the boys all for their stomach's sake their morning bitters
took
Now the times they have altered, Jim, and men have altered too
And some have undertaken for to put rumsellers through
They say that whiskey's poison, Jim, and scores of graves has dug
And ten thousand snakes and devils can be seen in our old jug
But never mind such prattle, Jim, Though some of it be true
We'll sleep where we've a mind to, together, me and you
For the drink they call cold water, won't do for you nor I
So we'll haul the cork at leisure, and we'll drink the old jug dry