|
| | |
 |
|
|
|
| |
School of Mines
How do I become an instructor
I ask the dean today
He said, tell me of your experience
send a resume.
So I sat down at the table
stumped with out a muse
a scoreboard, of things known
rock wars win and lose.
Well, pard take off your digger coat
hand it on that nail
open up your pie can
and let tell to you my tale.
Once I drove a decline
the kind you drill and blast.
The host was good and solid
broke like bloody glass
it was easy there to cycle
a dream, a perfect place
That dream like glass was shattered
I hit a diabase.
I lost a foot on the first round I shot
that's mining I suppose,
I lost two foot on the next one
I said, "thats the way it goes".
I bootlegged three feet on the third round
now it's an awful mess.
I'll try another burn
a pyramid would work best.
There I took the jumbo
I drilled and took my time
I drilled that cut out
perfect, all aligned.
One big hole in the center
that's what you usually see.
to get all the relief that I could
I went and reamed there, three.
Finished with the drilling
I loaded and I shot
loud the holes that I had
I knew what that had bought
Knew you say?
what that all about.
every hole was loaded
all had rifled out.
I only popped the collars
not a single inch was earned
the pyramid was perfect
I was badly burned.
I went for caps and powder
blow pipe off the rack
I reloaded the round the lifters first
and then I stepped on back.
I looked at those big holes
perfect like a son
I'll teach this ground a lesson
I'll load the center one.
In I stuffed cap and powder
I backed them up with prell
the three inch hole took half a sack
I lit, 'n ran like hell.
Almost up the decline
there came that mighty boom
the concussion almost knocked me flat
smoke rolled pretty soon.
Then the air it didn't move
it hung just like a haze
seemed minutes turned to hours
hours turned to days.
The three inch hole I loaded
pulled it turned the trick
but the price paid by the brattice cloth
it just made me sick
You see every piece was ripped and split
that's why there was the haze
I sat on my arse with needle and thread
ventbag I sewed for days.
I taught that ground a lesson
a lesson that it earned.
best about the lesson taught
the lesson that I learned.
Experience is the professor
and mistakes the price you pay
There more truth in this story
than some BS resume.
© Joel Tankersley 1995
|
|
|
| |
|
|
