If you have a grouch, and things look blue,
You think the "world" has it in for you,
You're out of work, and the rent 'most due,
Your chances of winning, seem but few,
The chums you had, bade a sad adieu,
Then went their way, for they were not true,
Your last red cent from the bank you drew,
And for provisions the same you blew,
For getting more you haven't a clue;
You worry and fret, and fuss and stew,
And by your fretting, more troubles brew;
Your lucky star seems hidden from view,
And old hard luck, sticks to you like glue,
Boasted true-blue friends have lost their hue,
Not one volunteers to help you through,
And your last fond hope took wing and flew;
There's but one thing left for you to do—
Bury your troubles, and start anew.
