POETRY.
EX-REVOLLICIONAR10.--MEXICO, 1913.
THEY have taken away my horse; They have taken away my knife; They've taken my "forty-five calibre " guns, And they figure on taking my life.
Since this is a Mexican song I reckon it no disgrace With pedants to quarrel to work in my moral In a most unconventional place.
For those who walk wide o' the herd, Their lot is uncommonly hot; When gentle they're starved, and when hostile are carved And their bellies are filled with shot.
The mode of my falling was thus : A patriot people would cry, " Don • Ek-es' arriba ! Que viva ! gut viva i" So I shouted " viva" for " Y."
Well—" X" had to pack up and go,
Aud " Y" he got swelled in the head— (The crowd is erratic and over-emphatic)-
And I started virus for " Z."
But I hadn't the price of a feed, So what was a man to do P- I borrowed a brace o' " forty-fives" And levied a loan or two.
Wherefore they gathered me in, And here I lie shackled and jugged; And the jefes* all say at the spring o' the day I'll be freely and frequently plugged.
Roll me a cigarette— Both "Y" and I must go—
I was always a trifle ahead of the herd But the Good Lord made me so.
I am a prophet of parts— They have taken away my knife—
They drove me to steal for the sake of a meal, And they figure on taking my life. G. F. G.
• Signifieth in Spanish high priests and chiefs of the people.
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