poem: Goldrush

well, I did say, various aspects of my personality. this following has a few baddy words, s.o.b., hell, deuce. Did I miss any?
If you can get by that, this is a pretty good poem if I do say so, oh, and those 'words'-'phrases'
have the distinction of being the only 'colored language' in fifty years of writing. pretty good huh?
If anyone ever saw a guy coming out of the bush, with pack and pan, and thought to themselves, "what a bum", well let me tell you, I 'have' walked a mile in their shoes times 'X'. I was and am proud to be in that number.

GOLDRUSH


Sonofabitch
We’re gonna get rich
We’re in the Cariboo now

Never mind the snow
Oh, it’s time to go
Yes, we’re in the Cariboo now

To hell with the cold
Gonna get that gold
We’re in the Cariboo now

Shades of Bill Barker
We look for the lost marker
Searching the Cariboo wood

Hey mr. grizz, get lost
We’re in, whatever the cost
Oh, that Cariboo gold

Well, sonofabitch
And many a homemade stitch
We’re still in the Cariboo hills

The glitter of gold
Whatever the mold
Will drive the strongest hearts wild

Set up that sluice
We don’t give a deuce
We want that Cariboo gold

With concentrated sands
Washed out in the pans
Ah, the glitter of gold

An ounce, two, or maybe three
Are hailed with shouts of glee
Echoing through the trees

The miners heart is strong
Struggling to get along
Just as the ghosts of the past

Yes, sonofabitch
We’re gonna get rich
We’re in the Cariboo now.

Dave.C