Jack Of All Trades

In all trades I’ve been a meddler, Chorus. Foolin’ my life away: I started life as a Yankee peddler, Fiddlin’ and foolin’ away.

Didn’t find the trade encouragin’ So I turned a Dey Street New York surgeon.

Next I’d a shopman for employer, And then a Philadelphia lawyer.

After that I was a smuggler, Then I travelled as a juggler.

Next I was a collector’s dunner, And after that an emigrant runner.

Then I laboured with some bakers, Next, for a year, I joined the Shakers;

But they found me too defective, So for a while I turned detective.

Then I tried my hand as teacher, And next became a Blue Light preacher.

Then I was one of the ——’s editors, But had to cut to dodge my creditors.

Faking oranges I tried next on, Then for a while I dug as a sexton.

For seven trips I was a slaver, Then, as a barber, I turned shaver.

After that I worked as pirate, For all the naval sharps to fire at.

Then nigger minstrel, then a sorter, Off an’ on, shorthand reporter.

Then I took to readin’ lectures, And after that to paintin’ pictures.

Next as drummer I did chaffer, And then I worked as photográpher.

Then for a while I run a dairy, And next I turned apothecäry.

Then stuck pla-cards as a billist, And so became a patent pill-ist.

Finding all other trades deceiving, For a time I took to thieving.

Now I’m a Pacific purser, And don’t think I can do any worser, Foolin’ my life away.

“Yes, that’s the way,” said Jones, “that some go squandrin’, Which minds me that we too must now be wand’rin’:” “And I,” quoth Brown, “must be aboard and early; But first of all I’m going to see my girley; She’d blow a storm if I should fail to meet her: She is, I vum, an awful breezy creeter, A gale in petticoats, and one that’s stinging; I’ll sing a song on that—to end our singing. You’ve known the girl-wind, boys—I never doubt it; And here’s a ballad which is all about it:”