While others fume and sweat to boil

Scratching and digging for golden spoil

And for what is gold when life is sped

For such times we are long time dead

Long days of worry and constant strife

Such times are not my dreams of life

When in the shade it's ninety-three

No gold our there looks good to me

Content with life and worries few

With jobs of really nothing to do

Slothful times have serves me well

For the moment I've lived to tell