Abalone Song

Oh, some folks boast of quail on toast
Because they think it's toney,
But I'm content to owe my rent
And live on abalone.
Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint,
Where ev'ry 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 on lazzaroni
On Boston beans and fresh sardines,
A toothesome abalone.

Some live on hope, and some 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 me a pail of gin
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.

Thanks goes to David Schlottmann for sharing this Jack London poem with us.
Source: Weiderman, Richard. The Jack London Collector (July 1970)