When a feller hasn't got a cent and is feelin' kind of blue, And the clouds hang thick and dark And won't let the sunshine thro' It's a great thing, oh my brethren, For a feller just to lay His hand upon your shoulder in a friendly sort of o' way.
It make a man feel queerish, It makes the tear-drops start. And you kind o' feel a flutter In the region of your heart. You can't look up and meet his eye, You don't know what to say When a hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o' way.
Oh this world's a curious compound With its honey and its gall; Its cares and bitter crosses, But a good world after all. And a good God must have made it, Leastwise that is what I say, When a hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o' way.