The Fatal Glass of Beer

- Who's thar? - Officer Postlewhistle of the Canadian Mounted.

- Hello, officer. - Good evening, Mr. Snavely.

- Is it still snowin'? - I don't know. To tell you the truth, I never looked.

- Did you get your man? - Not yet, but I got my eye on 'im.

Well, that's somethin'.

- You pullin' out? - Figurin' on goin' over the Rim tonight.

How's your son Chester?

You heared from him lately?

I ain't a-heared from Chester...

it'll be a year, come Michaelmas.

I was thinkin' of the song that you writ about him.

I wanted to sing it to my wife last night.

You know, we got a boy just about Chester's age...

who's got a hankerin' to go to the city.

- Have you got your dulcimer here? - Yes, I have, officer.

I wonder if you would mind singin' me that song.

I'd be tickled to death.

You'll have to excuse me, though, if my voice isn't just right.

You know, we can't get any ipecac up in this part of the country.

Go right ahead, Mr. Snavely.

You won't consider me rude if I play with my mitts on, will you?

Not at all, Mr. Snavely. Not at all.

There was once a poor boy

And he left his country home

And he came to the city to look for work

He promised his ma and pa

He would lead a sinless life

And always shun the fatal curse of drink

Once in the city

He got a situation in a quarry

And there he made the acquaintance

Of some college students

He little thought they were demons

For they wore the best of clothes

But good clothes do not always make the gentleman

So they tempted him to drink

And they said he was a coward

Until at last he took The fatal glass of beer

When he found what he'd done

He dashed the glass upon the floor

And he staggered through the door

With delirium tremens

Once upon the sidewalk

He met a Salvation Army girl

And wickedly he broke her tambourine

All she said was "Heaven...

"Heaven bless you"

And placed a mark upon his brow

With a kick she'd learned

Before she had been saved

Now, as a moral to young men

Who come down to the city

Don't go 'round breaking people's tambourines

That certainly is a sad song.

Don't cry, constable.

It is a sad song.

My Uncle Ichabod said, speakin' of the city,

"It ain't no place for women, gal,

but pretty men go thar."

He always said somethin' to make you split your sides a-laughin'.

Comical old gentleman he was.

Well, I think I'll be a-hightailin' it over the Rim.

- And it ain't a fit night out for man nor beast.

Otto!

Hee!

Otto, mush!

Otto!

Otto!

Mush! Mush!

Hee!

Otto! Mush!

March! March!

Tastes more like corn flakes. March!

March!

Hee!

- And it ain't a fit night out for man nor beast.

Hullo-wah!

Hello there!

Hello!

Hello.

- How, Mr. Snavely? - How, Chief.

- How. - And how.

Vamoose!

Oom-scray.

Lamb.

It ain't a fit night out for man nor beast.

And it's been a-stormin' for almost a "fort-nit."

- Who's thar? - It's me, Ma.

Did you find any gold down at the gulf, Pa?

I found that "nougat." It be on the table.

A "nougat." A golden "nougat."

Just what you been a-combin' them thar hills for for nigh on to 30 years.

It must be worth almost a hundred dollars.

Help to pay off the mortgage on the old shack.

Has that pill from Medicine Hat been here again?

- Yes, and he wants more money. - Rot his hide.

He wants more money, and if he don't get it, he'll take our malamute.

- He won't take old Bozo, my lead dog. - Why not, Pa?

'Cause I 'et him.

You 'et him?

He was mighty good with mustard.

We was a-mushing over Blind Nag Rim last night.

I got mighty hungry.

You better take your mukluks off, Pa.

Captain Pepitone of the Canadian Mounted...

smuggled a police dog across the border for you.

Smuggled a police dog across the border for me?