WHEN you drink of what the poets rave about as -sorrer-s cup�,
And yer mouth, in spite of laughin-, gits a curve the wrong way up,
Do not whine for help or pity; never cringe at fortunes frown-
Lay yer list-ners back and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!

Though the world on empty pockets is at times a little harsh
And the weights of care are clinging to the ends of your mustarsh,
Never let yer grief boil over; it is nothing to the town-
Lay yer list-ners back and battle till you fight yer sorres down!

When the law of gravitation lays a hand upon yer heart,
An- the -slings an- arrers� fetch yer and you feel -em pretty smart,
When you cannot find a billet, and you haven-t half-a-crown-
Lay yer list-ners hack and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!

When the gilt upon the future wears in places very thin,
Look as if there-s nothink crooked, try an- summon up a grin;
There-s a mask that you must always wear the other way about-
Lay yer list-ners back and battle till you knock yer sorrers out.