I guess that I'm done for, old chappie!
Done, whether she loves me or not,—
But don't look so deuced unhappy,—
Y'know it was I fired the shot.
Thanks, awfully. Give me the whiskey,—
There's a horrible pain in my head;
It's queer that my nerves should be frisky
When my heart is as heavy as lead.
I'm worthless; I own it! She told me,
That night at the Country Club ball,—
Don't try, dear old fellow, to hold me,—
Ah, Nellie!—it's over!—don't call!
She told me my life had been wasted,
That my money had ruined my mind,
That I'd not left a pleasure untasted,—
Had been a disgrace to mankind!
And now she's to marry another,—
A poor man, but honest and strong,
Who had never a passion to smother,
And never a chance to do wrong.
He loves her. They'll all think it funny
I don't curse him and kill him, old fel;
But she loves him. I've left him my money,—
For I love her—God bless her! Farewell!