Your Tool Box will be Raffled By and By

The following poem appeared in the March 1927 issue of Railroad. It was written by Jo Evans and published "By request".

I must shortly leave the banker,
For my card is long exempt.
The fire of youth has vanished from my eye,
And the saddest thought to-day
Is when I have passed away
That my tool box will be raffled by and by.

Chorus:
I have roamed around the country,
But am getting stiff and old;
And now I am travelling home again to die.
Though you're young and strong today,
Yet the years pass away,
And your tool box will be raffled by and by.

When I was but a 'prentice lad,
Just starting at the trade,
Some chump would make me mad enough to cry,
But I heeded not his chaff,
For this saying made me laugh,
That his tool box would be raffled by and by.

When I became a journeyman
And started on the road,
With pockets light, but spirits always high,
I was never known to shirk
From the hardest kind of work,
But my tool box may be raffled by and by.

Sometimes I thought it hard
When I struck a stranger's yard,
And a rumper worked with malice in his eye,
But I merely used to grin,
As I said, "My boy, go in,"
But your tool box will be raffled by and by.

You may often meet a sneak,
Who with manner soft and meek,
Will do his best to do you on the sly.
Keep your eye on the lad,
Let this saying make you glad,
That his tool box will be raffled by and by.

I must end my little song,
And be jogging right along,
My journey's end is drawing very nigh;
Take my advice, be fair,
Act the man, upon the square,
For your tool box may be raffled by and by

see Peter Kirkpatrick's article in
Journal of Social Change and Critical Inquiry