When Folks Find I Ain't Afeard To

A Bird In The Hand Is A Certainty, But A Bird In The Bush May Sing.

Thiar Ain't No Sense In Gittin' Riled!

And Then, For An Old Man Like Me, It's Not Exactly Right,this Kind O' Playing Soldier With No Enemy In Sight.

One Big Vice In A Man Is Apt To Keep Out A Great Many Smaller Ones.

If, Of All Words Of Tongue And Pen, The Saddest Are, It Might Have Been,' More Sad Are These We Daily See: 'it Is, But Hadn't Ought To Be!'