The Abalone Song (final version)
By George Sterling
Oh! some folks boast of quail and toast, Because they think it's tony; But I'm content to owe my rent And live on abalone. Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint, Where every crab's a crony; And true and kind you'll ever find The clinging abalone. He wanders free beside the sea Where'er the coast is stony; He flaps his wings and madly sings — The plaintive abalone. By Carmel Bay, the people say We feed the lazzaroni On Boston beans and fresh sardines And toothsome abalone. Some live on hope, some live on dope, And some on alimony; But my tom-cat, he lives on fat And tender abalone. Oh! some drink rain, and some champagne, Or brandy by the pony; But I will try a little rye With a dash of abalone. Oh! some like jam, and some like ham, And some like macaroni; But bring to me a pail of gin And a tub of abalone. He hides in caves beneath the waves, His ancient patrimony; And so 'tis shown that faith alone Reveals the abalone. The more we take, the more they make In deep sea matrimony; Race suicide cannot betide The fertile abalone. I telegraph my better half By Morse or by Marconi; But if the need arise for speed, I send an Abalone. Oh, some folks think the Lord is fat, Some think that He is bony; But as for me, I think that He Is like an abalone.
This is the final version of the song written out and "approved" by George Sterling and typed by Idwal Jones.