Poetry Archives

When I was boxing in the ring
In ‘Frisco back in ninety-seven,
I used to make five bucks a fling
To give as good as I was given.
But when I felt too fighting gay,
And tried to be a dinger-donger,
My second, Mike Muldoon. would say:
“Go easy, kid; you’ll stay the longer.”

When I was on the Yukon trail
The boys would warn, when things were bleakest,
The weakest link’s the one to fail—
Said I: “by Gosh! I won’t be weakest.”
So I would strain with might and main,
Striving to prove I was the stronger,
Till Sourdough Sam would snap: “Goddam!
Go easy, son; you'’ last the longer.”
So all you lads of eighty odd
Take my advice—you’ll never rue it:
Be quite prepared to meet your God,
But don’t stampede yourselves to do it.
Just cultivate a sober gait;
Don’t emulate the lively conger;
No need to race, slow down the pace,
Go easy, Pals—you’ll linger longer.