My Dad’s Dinner Pall.

My Dad’s Dinner Pall.
383.1

I’ll preserve that old kettle, so blackened and worn.
It belonged to my father before I was born:
It hung in the corner beyond on a nail.
It’s the emblem of labor, my dad’s dinner pail.

Chorus-
It glistened like stiver, so sparkling and bright.
I valued that treasure that held the wes hite;
Through summer and winter, through rain. snow. or hail,
I’ve carried that kettle, my dad’s dinner pali.

If the day should prove stormy my father ‘d stay home
And polish his kettle bright as a stone:
He’d Joke with iny mother and me he would whale
If I just lay my fingers on dad’s dinner pali.

– When the bells rang for meal time my father ‘d come down.
He’d eat with a welcome while out on the ground;
He’d joke with the laborers and say he’d go bail
There was never a bottom to dad’s dinner pail.

There’s a piace for the coffee, and also the bread.
The corn beef and waffles, and ofttimes was sald
Go fill it with porter, with gin, or with ale.
And the drink will taste sweeter from dad’s dinner pail