The Abalone Song (final version)

By George Sterling

Oh! some folks boast of quail and toast,
Because they think it's tony;
But I'm content to owe my rent
And live on abalone.

Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint,
Where every crab's a crony;
And true and kind you'll ever find
The clinging abalone.

He wanders free beside the sea
Where'er the coast is stony;
He flaps his wings and madly sings —
The plaintive abalone.

By Carmel Bay, the people say
We feed the lazzaroni
On Boston beans and fresh sardines
And toothsome abalone.

Some live on hope, some live on dope,
And some on alimony;
But my tom-cat, he lives on fat
And tender abalone.

Oh! some drink rain, and some champagne,
Or brandy by the pony;
But I will try a little rye
With a dash of abalone.

Oh! some like jam, and some like ham,
And some like macaroni;
But bring to me a pail of gin
And a tub of abalone.

He hides in caves beneath the waves,
His ancient patrimony;
And so 'tis shown that faith alone
Reveals the abalone.

The more we take, the more they make
In deep sea matrimony;
Race suicide cannot betide
The fertile abalone.

I telegraph my better half
By Morse or by Marconi;
But if the need arise for speed,
I send an Abalone.

Oh, some folks think the Lord is fat,
Some think that He is bony;
But as for me, I think that He
Is like an abalone.

This is the final version of the song written out and "approved" by George Sterling and typed by Idwal Jones.

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