There's the strangest bunch o' fellows
That lives in this here town
That e'er I laid my eyes upon
In all my rambi' round'----
They call themselves the "Three-Link Gang"
An' "Patryarcks," an' such----
They've got a lot o' secret signs
I can't catch on to much
I shore do like to watch them guys
A passin' up and down,
Along the street, most any day,
In any part o' town
;
They aller act so freindly like----
It drives to blues away------
Its "Brother this" an' "Brother that"
An' "how's yer health today?"
There's many kinds o' folks of 'em
There's pore ol' Ezry Hanks,
An' Julius Pratt, the plutycrat,
Who owns a dozen banks;
There's ol' man Goode, my neIghbor, too
who ne'er to school has went,
An' then there's Doctor Skagaway,
The college prezzydent.
An' some of 'em ae 'ristocrats----
I s'pose their blood is blue----
But most of 'em are common folk,
Just men like me an' you.
They's engineers an' lawyers, too,
An' some that carry the hod
All shakin' hands like brothers----
An thats what makes 'em odd.
Yes, I declare to goodness, sir,
they' the strangest sort o' men;
The way they help each other out
Through every thick and then,
You'd think they were kinfolks
The way they lend a hand----
Whenever there is need o' help
You'll find this "Three-Link Band." |
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I remember how last winter
When folks around had the flu,
'Twas sick ones to be waited on
An settin'up to do;
But these fellers, they was ready,
An' no Family was too pore
But one o' them "Samariteens"
Would come knockin' at the door.
But 'twas the most distressin' sight
That ever i did see
When death, in come, an' tuck away
Our pore ol' Tom McGee,
An'left his orphan children, four,
Without a crust o' bread----
Oh many a eye was wet with tears
When pore ol' Tom was dead!
But they gave'im decent burial,
An' paid the funeral bills,
Then tuck his babies to the home
Amoung them Lynchburg hills,
Where they'll teach 'em to be useful
An' true to man and God----
So I guess things like I'm tellin's
What makes Odd Fellows odd.
Now I been watchin' 'em so long,
An' seein' how they do
An' I kinder got a feelin'
I'd like to be one too;
So t'other day, one come to me
An' said, "now look here, Joe,
Say, how'd you like to take a trip
with us to Jericho?"
He had a applykashun blank
Fixed up for me to sign,
So I writ my own John Henry
Right on the dotted line.
Now soon I'll go to Jericho,
An' when the road I've trod,
I'll understand just what it is
that makes Odd Fellows odd. |