Drivin’ The Stage

Drivin’ the stage,

Oh, drivin’ the stage,

With the wind fairly peelin’ your hide with its aidge!

Jest got to git through with the’Nited States mail

For the contract provisions don’t have the word “Fail.”

So it’s out and tread drifts while the snow howls and sifts

For a dollar a trip--and no extrys--no gifts.

For them star-route contractors they figger it fine

And take it right out of the chaps on the line.

They set in an office and rake in their slice

While the drivers are tusslin’ the snow and the

ice.

It may howl, it may yowl, it may snow, it may blow

But that’Nited States mail, wal, it jest has to go.

So it’s out and unhitch, leave the pung where it’s stuck,

Lo’d the bags on the hosses and then, durn ye, huck!

And it’s waller and struggle, walk stun’-walls and rails

For they don’t stand no foolin’--them’Nited States mails.

And at last when ye git there, jest tuckered and beat,

And sling in the bags and crowd up to the heat,

The gang round the stove they don’t give ye no praise

But set there and toast themselves’side of the blaze;

And ev’ry old, wobble-shanked son of a gun

Sets up there and tells ye how he would have done!

--If there’s any one job gives your temper an aidge,

It’s drivin’ the stage,

--It’s drivin’ the stage.