Saps and Craps

He was standing on the corner, His shoulders slightly bent, His hat was badly battered And his clothes were torn and rent; It was on a Sabbath morning, The day was bright and fair, The churchbells softly ringing, Calling folks to prayer.

A group came slowly strolling Beneath the shady trees, The fellow ambled forward And dropped upon his knees. "Good folks," he mumbled hoarsely, "Could you spare a man a mite, To buy myself some coffee And perhaps a little bite?"

"My clothes are torn and tattered, My hair is streaked with gray, But I used to go to worship In a bygone better day. For my folks were Christian people But died when I was young, And I am just a drifter With a badly busted lung."

Here, he paused and coughed with anguish, His hand upon his heart, And just to see that bozo Would make the grand tears start; They gave him dimes and nickels And a brand new dollar bill, They felt so very sorry, He really did look ill.

He thanked them for their kindness, His smile was good to see, "I wish you all good morning, You've been so good to me." He dodged around the corner And laughed at them there saps, And lost their dimes and nickles In a friendly game of craps.