I Had but Fifty Cents

(anonymous, though some believe it was written by Sam Devere in 1885)

I took my girl to a fancy ball;

It was a social hop.

We waited till the folks got out,

And the music it did stop.

Then to a restaurant we went,

The best one on the street.

She said she wasn't hungry

But this is what she ate.

A dozen raw, a plate of slaw,

A chicken and a roast,

Some applesauce and asparagus,

And soft-shell crabs on toast.

A big box stew, and crackers too;

Her appetite was immense!

When she called for pie,

I thought I'd die,

For in my pocket I had but fifty cents.

She said she wasn't hungry

And didn't care to eat,

But I've money in my clothes

To bet she can't be beat.

She took it in so cozy,

She had an awful tank.

She said she wasn't thirsty

But this is what she drank.

A whisky skin, a glass of gin,

Which made me shake with fear,

A ginger pop, with rum on top,

A schooner then of beer,

A glass of ale, a gin cocktail.

She should have had more sense.

When she called for more

I fell on the floor

For in my pocket I had but fifty cents.

Of course I wasn't hungry

And didn't care to eat,

Expecting every moment

To be kicked into the street.

She said she'd fetch her family round,

And some night we'd have fun

But in my pocket I had but fifty cents.

When I gave the man the fifty cents,

This is what he done:

He tore my clothes,

He smashed my nose,

He hit me on the jaw,

He gave me a prize

Of a pair of black eyes

And with me swept the floor.

He took me where my pants hung loose,

And threw me over the fence.

Now take my advice, don't try it twice

If in your pocket you've got but fifty cents.