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Poem	When I was boxing in the ring In 'Frisco back in ninety-seven, I used to make five bucks a fling To give as good as I was given. But when I felt too fighting gay, And tried to be a dinger-donger, My second, Mike Muldoon. would say: "Go easy, kid; you'll stay the longer." When I was on the Yukon trail The boys would warn, when things were bleakest, The weakest link's the one to fail - Said I: "by Gosh! I won't be weakest." So I would strain with might and main, Striving to prove I was the stronger, Till Sourdough Sam would snap: "Goddam! Go easy, son; you'' last the longer." So all you lads of eighty odd Take my advice - you'll never rue it: Be quite prepared to meet your God, But don't stampede yourselves to do it. Just cultivate a sober gait; Don't emulate the lively conger; No need to race, slow down the pace, Go easy, Pals - you'll linger longer.
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