The rich man has his motor-car.
His country and his town estate
He smokes a fifty-cent cigar.
And jeers at fate
He frivols through the livelong day .
He knows not poverty her pinch.
His lot seems light his heart seems gay
He has a cinch
Yet though my lamp burns low and dim
Though I must slave for livelihood
Think you that I would change with him????
You bet I would
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