No Harm Will Get in Our Way Will We Ever Road Again Lyrics

Cowboy Songs iii

Sometimes it's hard to recollect the lyrics for all those traditional old cowboy and Western songs no matter how difficult we try.  Hither are the words for some of the archetype songs every bit well as the words for the songs you may not hear anymore.  New songs will be added on a regular basis.  If y'all are looking for the words for a particular song let me know and I volition attempt to postal service them.  Happy Singing!

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A

B

Neb VANERO

Nib Vanero heard them say
ln Arizona town 1 twenty-four hours,
"There'south a band of 'pache indians,
They're on the trail this style."
Bill had heard of a murder washed,
2 men killed on Rocky Run,
Though his thoughts were with the cow ranch
On the borders of Rocky Run.

Nib stood gazing all effectually,
Picked his lasso from the ground,
Caught his little brown Champion
Not many steps away .
Now Neb, you concord your breath
For you're riding straight to death,
There's a band of budgeted indians,
They are on the trail this way.

Soon with bridle and hissing . . .
And jingling of the spurs,
The little dark-brown Champion bore the cowboy
Abroad from friends and domicile,
Over oakey spots he sped
Every bit his thoughts drift on ahead
To little Bess at the cow ranch
And the boys on Rocky Run.

Just then a rifle shot
Woke the echoes of the spot,
Bill Vanero said, "I'm wounded,"
Every bit he reeled from side to side.
"As long as there's life in that location's hope,
Swiftly onward I will lope."
Suddenly Pecker Vanero halted
In the shadow of the hills.

From his pocket and so he took
With weak hands a little volume,
He tore a blank leaf from information technology
Saying, "This will exist my volition."
From a tree a twig he broke,
Then he dipped his pen of oak
Into the life-blood that was flowing
From the wound above his middle.

This message he wrote fast,
His showtime beloved letter of the alphabet and his terminal,
Tied it safely to the saddle
And his lips grew white with pain,
"Have this bulletin, Gnaw," he said,
"To footling Bessie if non me,
And if I never reach the cow ranch
Little Bess will know I tried."

Moo-cow ranch forty miles away
In a solitary spot that lay
In a green and shady valley
In a mighty wilderness .
Just at sunset a horse of brown
Covered with sweat come panting down
From the lane into the moo-cow ranch
And stopped at Bessie's door.

The cowhoy was comatose
And his slumber was and then deep,
Niggling Bessie tried to wake him,
She tried it o'er and o'er.
Now you lot've heard tbe story told
By the young and by the old,
How the indians killed Neb Vanero
On the trail of Rocky Run.

Many years accept passed away,
And this maiden's hair turned grey,
But she still puts a wreath of roses
On Beak Vanero's grave

 The Buffalo Hunters

Come all y'all pretty fair maids, these lines to you I write;
We're going on the range in which nosotros take please,
Nosotros're going on the range as we poor hunters do,
While those tender-footed fellows do stay at dwelling house with you.

Our game it is the antelope, the buffalo, elk and deer;
They roam these broad prairies without the least of fright;
Nosotros rob them of their robes in which we think no impairment,
To purchase us chuck and habiliment for to go along our bodies warm.

The buffalo is the largest and the noblest of the van,
He sometimes refuses to throw u.s.a. upwardly his easily,
With shaggy mane uplifted, and face toward the sky,
As if to say, "I'chiliad coming, so hunter listen your middle!"

All the day long nosotros become tramping around,
In search of the buffalo that we may shoot them down;
Armed with out trusty rifle and chugalug of forty rounds,
We send them upwardly Table salt River to their happy hunting grounds.

While armed with Sharps rifle or Needle gun and then true
Nosotros cause the "buff" to bite the grit for they send their bullets through;
For when we come upon them, if our guns have no defects,
We cause them to throw up their hands and pass united states in their checks.

Our houses are made of buffalo hides, we build them tall and round;
Our fires are made of buffalo chips, our beds are on the ground.
Our article of furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot and pan;
Our chuck is buffalo beef and bread intermingled well with sand.

Our neighbors are the Cheyenne, the Arapaho and Sioux;
Their mode of transportation is the buffalo hibernate canoe.
And if they all should emigrate I'one thousand sure nosotros wouldn't care,
For a peculiar style they have of raising hunters' hair.

The hunters are jolly fellows, they like their lager beer,
The hunters are jolly fellows, they drink their whiskey clear;
And at present you've heard my song yous must not think it queer,
If I take a potable of whisky or a glass of lager beer.

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C

THE COWBOYS RIDE

Oh, for a ride o'er the prairies free,
On a fiery untamed steed,
Where the curlews fly and the coyotes weep
And the western current of air goes sweeping past,
For my middle enjoys the speed.

With my left hand light on the bridle rein,
And the saddle girth pinched behind,
With the lariat tied at the pony'due south side
By my stout right arm that's truthful and tried,
We race with the whistling wind.

Nosotros're upward and away in the morning time light
As swift as a shooting star,
That suddenly flies across the heaven,
And the wild birds whirl in quick surprise
At the cowboy's gay "Hurrah!"

Every bit free every bit a bird o'er the rolling body of water
We skim the pasture wide,
Like a seagull song we hurry forth,
And the earth resounds with a galloping song
As we sail through the fragrant tide.

You tin accept your ride in the crowded town!
Give me the prairies gratuitous.
Where the curlews wing and the coyotes cry,
And the centre expands 'neath the open heaven:
Oh, that's the ride for me!

THE COWMAN'S PRAYER

Lord, pleaae assist me, lend me Thine ear,
The prayer of a troubled cowman to hear.
No dubiousness my prayer to you lot may seem strange,
But I want y'all to bless my cattle range.

Bless the roundups twelvemonth by year;
Delight and then don't forget the growmg steer.
Water the country with brooks and rills
For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.

At present O Lord, if you'll exist so adept,
See that my stock has plenty of food.
Our mountains are peaceful, the prairies serene,
Oh Lord, for the cattle, delight proceed them green.

Prairie fires, won't you lot please finish?
Make thunder curl and water to driblet,
It frightens me to see the dread smoke,
Unless it is stopped, I'thou jump to go dead broke

As you, O Lord, my fine herds behold
They represent a sack of pure gold,
I think that at least five cents on the pound
Would exist a good cost forbeef the yr circular.

1 thing more, and then I'll be through,
Instead of one dogie let my cows have two,
I may pray different from all other men
Simply I've had my say, and now, amen.

Crooked Trail To Holbrook (Arizonio)

Come all you jolly cowboys, who follow the bronco steer
I'll sing to y'all a verse or two your spirits for to cheer
I'll tell you lot all about a trip that I did undergo
On the crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizon-i-o.

On February the seventeenth our herd it started out.
It would have fabricated you lot shudder to hear them bawl and shout.
As wild as whatsoever buffalo that ever roamed the Platte,
The cattle nosotros were driving, and every 1 was fat.

We crossed the Mescal Mountains and how the wind did blow.
A blizzard was ii-raging and the pass was deep in snowfall.
Simply the pointers kept'em headed and the drag men pushed'em
On the kleptomaniacal trail to Holbrook, in Arizon-i-o.

One dark we hiid a stampede -Lord, how the cattle run!
Nosotros made it to our borses, but boys it was no fun.
Over prickly peir and catclaw castor we quickly made our way,
We thought of'our long joumey and the girls nosotros left 1 day.

When nosotros got to Gilson Flats, tbe wind did surely accident.
It blew so hard and blew so violent, we knew not where to go.
Just our spirits never failed us an onward we did become
On the kleptomaniacal trail to Holbrook, in Arizon-i-o.

It's along by Sombrero we slowly punched forth While each and every puncher would sing a hearty vocal To cheer up all his comrades as onward we did go on the crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizon-i-o.  We crossed the rugged Mogollon where alpine pino forests grow The grass was in abundance and rippling streams did period Our packs were always turning, of form our gait was slow On the crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizon-i-o.  At final we got to Holbrook and a piffling breeze did accident It blew upward sand and pebbles and information technology didn't blow them slow, We had to potable the water from that dirty little stream And swallowed a peck of gravel when we trid to eat a edible bean  And when the herd was sold and shipped and homeward nosotros were bound With equally tired a string of horses as e'er could be found Across the reservation, no danger did nosotros fear, Nosotros thought of wives and sweethearts, the ones we loved and so dear.  Nosotros're now back in Globe City, our friendships there to share Here's luck to every puncher who follows the bronco steer My best communication to you, boys,is endeavour and never become On the crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizon-i-o.

Custer's Last Accuse

Just before brave Custer'due south charge
Ii soldiers drew their reins,
With parting words and clasping hands
That they might never see over again.
Ane was a tall and slendery lad,
and had trusted in the one
that he loved so best, so well,
For she's all this world to him.

"Upon my breast I take a confront,
I'll wear it in a fight;
A confront that is all this world to me
For she cherished a lovely grin,
And little have I cared for another face
Since she promised to be my wife.

"Will you write to her, Charlie, when I am gone,
Send back that fair fond confront,
And tell her how gently I died
And where was my resting place."
Tears filled the eyes of the blue-eyed male child
And his sad centre filled with hurting.
"I'll practice your behest, brave comrade mine,
If I never practise see again.

"But if I get killed volition you ride back
And practice as much for me?
I have a mother who's waiting at domicile
And she'due south all the world to me.
One by one she lost us all,
She lost both husband and son,
And I was the final that our country chosen
and she kissed me and sent me on."

But so the club came upwardly to accuse,
With an instant squeeze of easily,
And on and on they rode,
This dauntless and devoted ring.
They returned from the hill simply they could not proceeds
for out of the gathering doom
Where the Indians shot like hail
And they poured out death on Custer's ranks
And scalped them equally they vicious.

Among the expressionless who were left behind
Was a boy with curly pilus,
And the cold nighttime form that rode by his side
Lay dead abreast him there.
No i was left to tell the blue-eyed girl
The terminal words that her lover had said,
Simply the anile mother who's waiting at home
Will learn that her male child is dead.

D

THE DYING COWGIRL

I staked my merits out in the Due west when I was simply a boy.
I was out in that location all lone, no happiness or joy.
I had to fight the Indians as over the plain they roamed.
Old Pigment and I we only got back and chosen that place our home.

We started rustling cattle, simply rounding upwards the strays.
In the saddle all the time, only riding night and day.
And in the stars we trusted them to guide us over the plains,
To guide us back to our old shack with 4 strays home again.

As I rode out from camp one night a storm was raging high,
The sound of hoofbeats defenseless my ear, I heard a human cry.
I sat up in my saddle, I turned Sometime Paint effectually,
I saw a dying cowgirl a-lying on the ground.

I knelt beside that dying girl, I tried to say a prayer.
I hoped that God in all his love could hear me pleading there.
I saw her blue eyes open, she smiled at me so sweet.
She said that she would expect for me up there where cowhands come across.

And now she sleeps out yonder, out on that alone range,
Where all the stars watch over her until we meet again

E

F

Thou

H

HELL IN TEXAS

Oh, the Devil in hell they say he was chained,
And there for a one thousand years he remained;
He neither complained nor did he groan,
But decided he'd start up a hell of his own,
Where he could torment the souls of men
Without beingness close in a prison pen;
Then he asked the Lord if He had whatever sand
Left over from making this smashing land.

The Lord He said, "Yeah, I take plenty on hand,
Merely it's away down due south on the Rio Grande,
And, to tell you lot the truth, the stuff is then poor
I incertitude if 'twill practise for hell any more."
The Devil went down and looked over the truck,
And he said if information technology came every bit a gift he was stuck,
For when he'd examined it carefully and well
He decided the identify was as well dry for a hell.

Just the Lord just to become the stuff off His hands
He promised the Devil He'd h2o the land,
For he had some old h2o that was of no use,
A regular bog hole that stunk like the deuce.
So the grant it was fabricated and the human action it was given;
The Lord He returned to His place up in heaven.
The Devil soon saw he had everything needed
To make up a hell and then he proceeded.

He scattered tarantulas over the roads,
Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the toads,
He sprinkled the sands with millions of ants
Then the human being that sits downwards must wear soles on his pants.
He diffuse the horns of the Texas steer,
And added an inch to the jack rabbit'south ear;
He put water puppies in all of the lakes,
And nether the rocks he put rattlesnakes.

He hung thorns and brambles on all of the copse,
He mixed up the dust with jiggers and fleas;
The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,
The mosquito delights you by buzzing his wings.
The heat in the summertime'south a hundred and ten,
Also hot for the Devil and too hot for men;
And all who remained in that climate soon bore
Cuts, bites, stings, and scratches, and blisters galore.

He quickened the buck of the bronco steed,
And poisoned the feet of the centipede;
The wild boar roams in the black chaparral
Information technology's a hell of a identify that we've got for a hell.
He planted carmine pepper beside of the brooks;
The Mexicans use them in all that they cook.
Just dine with a Greaser and and then you will shout,
"I've hell on the within every bit well equally the out!

I

J

K

L

M

MUSTANG Greyness

At that place was a noble ranger,
They called him Mustang Gray;
He left his home when but a youth,
Went ranging far abroad.

Chorus:
But he'll go no more a-ranging
The cruel to affright;
He'southward bristles his last war whoop
And fought his terminal fight.

He ne'er would slumber within a tent
No comforts would he know;
But similar a dauntless old Tex-i-an
A-ranging he would go.

When Texas was invaded
Past a mighty tyrant foe,
He mounted his noble war horse
And a-ranging he did get.

Once he was taken prisoner,
Bound in chains upon the style;
He wore the yoke of bondage
Through the streets of Monterey.

A senorita loved him
And followed by his side;
She opened the gates and gave to him
Her begetter's steed to ride.

God bless the senorita,
The belle of Monterey;
She opened wide the prison door
And let him ride away.

And when this veteran's life was spent,
It was his concluding control,
To bury him on Texas soil
On the banks of the Rio Grande.

And there the lonely traveler,
When passing by his grave,
Will shed a adieu tear
O'er the bravest of the dauntless.

Now he'll get no more than a-ranging,
The savage to affright;
He's heard his last war whoop
and fought his final fight.

My Ma Was Born In Texas

My ma was built-in in Texas, My pa in Tennessee,
They were married in the summer of xviii ninety-three.
They moved to California and that'south where I was built-in,
In a rolling covered carriage on a bright September morn.

I grew up in my saddle, my play tow was a gun,
Shooting at the rattlesnakes was my idea of fun.
"Twas at the age of seventeen I left my happy home,
the open range was calling and my time had come to roam.

I met a off-white young maiden, she'due south the flower of the plains,
I married her 1 morning, which showed I had no brains.
She said she was a maiden, merely oh, how she had lied,
When the honeymoon was over, 7 kids were by her side.

Oh, I was disappointed, bit I said I didn't mind.
I remained her hubby, honest, true and kind,
Until one night I establish her upon a strangers knee,
To exist her long lost cousin he was introduced to me.

I knew that she was lying, so I pulled my gun and said,
"You're a low down, sneakin' coward," and I filled him full of lead.
The jury establish me guilty and they sentenced me for life,
But I'm better of in prison than to live with such a wife.

Due north

O

OX-DRIVING Song

Pop my whip and I bring the blood
I make the leaders take the mud;
We grab the wheels and we turn them effectually
One long, long pull and we're on hard ground.

cho: To me rol, to me rol, to my rideo
To me rol, to me rol, to my rideo
To my rideo, to my rudeo
To me rol, to me rol, to my rideo

On the fourteenth solar day of October-o
I hitched my squad in order-o
To drive the hills of Saludio
To me rol, to me rol, to my rideo

When I got there the hills were steep,
'Twould brand any tender-hearted person weep
To hear me cuss and pop my whip
And see my oxen pull and slip.

When I get home I'll have revenge,
I'll land my family among my friends.
I'll bid adieu to the whip and line
And drive no more in the wintertime.

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P

PATTONIO, THE PRIDE OF THE Manifestly

As yous await at the moving picture that hangs on the wall
As yous look at the arrow that hangs by its side,
You lot volition say, "Tell a story, " you know in that location is one, "
Of a horse called Pattonio." The story's begun.

His hair, like a lady's, was glossy and fine,
He was reckless and proud but gentle and kind
His biconvex neck was covered with a dark, flowing mane
And they called him Pattonio, the pride of the manifestly.

The country was new and the settlers were scarce
The Indians on the state of war path were fell and violent
Though scouts were sent out every day from the fort
Yet they never came back so we knew they were lost.

One mean solar day the helm said, "Fellows, someone must go
Across the dark borders of New United mexican states."
A dozen immature fellows straightway answered, "Here!"
But the captain spied me, I was standing quite near.

Pattonio was near me, his nose in my paw
Said the captain, "Your horse is the best in the land,
You're skilful for the ride, you're the lightest human hither
On the back of that mustang yous have zero to fright."

Then, proud of my pony, I answered, "You know
Pattonio and I are both willing to go.
For speed and endurance I'II trust in my blackness
So they all shook my hand and I mounted his back.

Turned downward the dark pathway, turned his head to the right
The black struck a trot and he kept it all nighttime
When far dorsum backside me I heard a shrill yell
And I knew that the redskins were right on my trail.

I reached down and jingled the bells on Pat'southward reins,
I spoke to Pattonio, I called him by name;
Pattonio then answered with a nod of his caput
And his dark trunk diffuse and onward nosotros sped.

We were leaving the redskins, the storv was obviously
The arrows brutal round us similar hail and similar rain,
Pattonio, he stumbled, I knew he was hurt,
Merely yet he dashed onward and into the fort.

I delivered the message, and so tried to dismount
But a pain in my foot was so bad I could not.
By proficient intendance and patience Pat and I soon were well
Of his death many years later I will not try to tell

Every bit yous look at the arrow that hangs on the wall
It went through my foot, saddle, stirrup, and all
On many fine horses I've since held the rein
But none like Pattonio, the pride of the plain.

PUNCHIN' DOUGH

Come, all yous young waddies, I'II sing yous a song
Stand back from the wagon, stay where y'all belong
I've heard you observin' I'yard fussy and slow,
While you're punchin' the cattle and I'yard punchin' dough.

Now I reckon your breadbasket would grow to your back
If it wa'northward't for the melt that keeps fillin' the slack
With the beans in the box and the pork in the tub
I'm a-wonderin' now, who would fill you lot with grub?

You call back you're right handy with gun and with rope
Simply I've noticed you're inconversable when usin' the soap
When y'all're rollin' your Bull for your brownish cigarette
I been rollin' the dough for them biscuits you lot et.

When you're cuttin' stock, so I'g cuttin' a steak,
When you're wranglin' hosses, I'k wranglin' a block.
When y'all're hazin' the dogies and battin' your eyes,
I'm hazin' dried apples that aim to be pies.

You brag almost shootin' up windows and lights,
Simply try shootin' biscuits for twelve appetites;
When you crawl from your scroll and the ground it is froze,
Then who biles the coffee that thaws out your nose?

In the old days the punchers took just what they got
It was sow-belly, beans, and the old coffee pot;
But now you come up howlin' for pie and for cake,
Then you cuss at the cook for a adept bellyache.

You say that I'yard old, with my feet on the skids
Well, I'm tellin' y'all at present that yous're nothin' only kids
If y'all reckon your mounts are some snaky and raw,
But try ridin herd on a stove that won't draw.

When you look at my frock, you're readin' my make
4-X, which is sign for the best in the country
On bottie or sack it sure stands for practiced luck,
So line upwards, you waddies, and wrangle your chuck.

No use to your snortin' and fightin' your caput
If y'all similar it with chili, just eat what I said:
For I aim to be dominate of this end of the show
While you're punchin' cattle and I'm punchin' dough

Q

R

THE RAILROAD CORRAL
(John Mills Hanson)

We're upwardly in the morning at breaking of twenty-four hour period,
The chuck carriage'due south busy, the thapjacks in play.
The herd is astir over hilside and vale
With the night riders crowding them onto the trail.

Come take up your cinches and shake out your reins,
Come wake your old bronco and break for the plains.
Come roust out your steers from the long chaparral
For the outfit is off to the railroad corral.

The sun circles up, the steers as they plod
Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod.
And it seems, as the dust makes you lot light-headed and ill
That we'll never accomplish apex and the cool shady creek.

Merely tie upwardly your kerchief and ply upwardly your nag
Come up dry out upwardly your grumbles and effort not to lag.
Come bulldoze out your steers from the long chaparral
For we're far on the route to the railroad corral.

The afternoon shadows are starting to lean,
When the chuck carriage sticks in a marshy ravine.
The herd scatters further than vision can look
You can bet all the punchers volition help out the melt.

Come milkshake out your rawhide and milkshake it up fair
Come interruption your old bronco and take in your share.
Come roust out your steers from the long chapparal
For its all in the drive to the railroad corral.

But the longest of days must reach evening at last,
The hills are all climbed and the creeks are all passed.
The tired herd droops in the yellowing light
Let 'em loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight.

And so flap up your holster and snap up your belt
And strap up your saddle whose lap yous have felt.
Practiced adieu to the steers from the long chapparal
In that location'due south a town that'due south a trump past the railroad corral.

RED RIVER SHORE

At the foot of yon mount where the fountain doth flow
The greatest creation, where the soft air current doth blow
There lived a fair maiden, she's the i i adore
She's the ane I would ally on the Red River Shore

I spoke to her kindly, proverb, "Will you ally me?
My fortune's not corking "No thing" said she
"Your beauty's a enough, you're the 1 I adore,
You're the 1 I would ally on the Crimson River Shore".

I asked her old father would he giver her to me
"No sir, she shan't marry no cowboy" said he
So I jumped on my bronco and away I did ride,
And left my true honey on the Red River side.

She wrote me a letter of the alphabet, and she wrote it so kind
And in this alphabetic character these words y'all could find
"Come back to me darling, yous're the one I adore,
Yous're the on I would marry on the Crimson River Shore".

Then I jumped on my bronco and abroad I did ride
To marry my truthful love on the Carmine River side
But her father the cloak-and-dagger had learned
And gathered an army of twenty and four,
To fight this immature cowboy on the Cerise River Shore.

I drew my six shooter, shooting round later on round
Till vi men were wounded and seven were downward
No use of an army of xx and iv.
I'chiliad jump for my true love on the Ruddy River shore.

A RIPPING TRIP

You go aboard of a leaky boat and sail for San Francisco
Y'all've got to pump to go on her afloat: y'all have that, past jingo
The engine presently begins to squeak but nary affair to oil her
Incommunicable to stop the leak -- RIP goes the boiler

The helm on the promenade, looking very savage
Steward and the cabin maid fighting 'bout a cabbage
All virtually the motel floor passengers prevarication sea-sick
Steamer's leap to go ashore -- RIP goes the physic

Pork and beans they can't afford to second-motel passengers
The cook has tumbled overboard with forty pounds of "sassengers"
The engineer, a little tight, bragging on the Mail service Line
Finally gets in a fight -- RIP goes the engine

Cholera begins to rage; a few have got the scurvy
Chickens dying in their muzzle; steerage topsy-turvy
When you lot get to Panama, greasers want a back-load
Officers begin to jaw -- RIP goes the railroad

When home you'll tell an atrocious tale, and ever will be thinking
How long yous had to pump and bail to proceed the tub from sinking
Of course, you'll take a glass of gin; 't will make yous experience and then funny
Some city sharp volition rope you in -- RIP goes your money

ROVING COWBOY

Come all y'all roving cowboys, bound downward this lowly land
I'll tell to you a story, while you lot around me stand
I'm a going to quit this, wild due west, it's a bleak and stormy plain
For I'm a thinking I will leave y'all to never return again.

Then sweetheart, my dear sweetheart, for sure dear I tin't become along
I left my dear old begetter, my country and my home
I left my love old mother, to weep and to mourn
Go to be a roving cowboy, and with the cattle roam.

I left my friends and dwelling so beloved, with a many a departing tear
My father followed saying, my male child, my boy, I fear
May God protect and guide y'all, and leave you not alone
Or bring his roving cowboy, back to his native dwelling house.

This maiden fair and lovely, sits closely past my side
Tonight she promised true-blue, that she would be my bride
So I kissed away a flowing tear, was dim to my blue optics
I'll never forget my darling girl, I'll love her till I die.

I've tried the straits of rambling, I know their trial well
I've crossed the rocky mount, where a many a brave boy fell
I've seen the far and afar countries, full of Indian, armed and wild
I'll never forget my beloved old abode, nor mother's sweetest smile.

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S

SIOUX INDIANS

I'll sing you a vocal, though it may exist a deplorable one,
Of trials and troubles and where start begun;
I left my dear fam'ly, my friends and my dwelling house,
To cross the broad mountains and deserts to roam.

I crossed the Missouri and joined a large railroad train,
Which bore us over mountains, through valley and plainly;
And often of an evening a-huntin' we'd go
To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo.

Nosotros heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains,
A-killing poor drivers and called-for their trains,
A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bows,
When captured by Indians no mercy they'd show.

We traveled 3 weeks till we come up to the Platte,_
A-pitching our tents at the head of the apartment;
We spread down our blankets on the green shady basis
Where the mules and the horses were grazing around.

While taking refreshment, we heard a loud yell,
The whoops of Sioux Indians come up from the dell.
Nosotros sprang to our rifles with a flash in each center _
And says our dauntless leader, "Nosotros'll fight till we die."

They made a bold dash and they come near our railroad train
The arrows vicious around us like showers of rain,
But with our long rifles we fed them hot pb
Till a-many a brave warrior effectually us lay dead.

We shot their bold principal at the head of their band,
He died like a warrior with his bow in his hand.
When they saw their dauntless chief lie dead in his gore
They whooped and they yelled and we saw them no more.

In our footling band at that place were only twenty-4,
And of the Sioux Indians five hundred or more;
We fought them with backbone, we spoke not a give-and-take;
The whoop of Sioux Indians was all could be heard.

We hooked up our horses and started our railroad train;
Three more bloody battles this trip on the plain.
And in our last boxing three of our brave boys vicious,
And we left them to rest in the green shady dell.

STARVING TO Decease ON MY Authorities Claim
(Lane County Bachelor)

My name is Frank Bolar, an former bach'lor I am
I'm keeping old batch on an elegant program,
You'll find me out west in the County of Lane
Starving to decease on my regime claim.
My firm information technology is built of the national soil
The walls are erected according to Hoyle,
The roof has no pitch, simply is level and plane
And I never get wet till it happens to pelting.

Then hurrah for Lane County, the land of the gratuitous
The home of the bedbug, mosquito and flea,
I'll sing loud her praises and never mutter
While starving to expiry on my government merits.

My clothes they are ragged, my language is crude,
My bread is case-hardened, both solid and tough;
The dough it is scattered all over the room
And the flooring would accept fright at the sight of a broom.
My dishes are dirty, and some in the bed
Are covered with sorghum and regime bread;
But I have a adept fourth dimension and I live at my ease
On common-sop sorghum, quondam bacon and grease.

Then hurrah for Lane Canton, the land of the W
Where the farmers and laborers are always at rest;
Where yous've nada to do but sweetly remain
And starve like a man on your government merits.

How happy am I when I crawl into bed
And a rattlesnake rattles a tune at my head;
And the gay little centipede, void of all fear
Crawls over my pillow ind into my ear.
And the prissy lilliputian bedbug, so cheerful and bright
Keeps me a-scratching total half of the dark,
And the gay little flea with toes sharp equally a tack
Plays "why don't you grab me?" all over my back.

Merely hurrah for Lane Canton, where blizzards arise
Where the winds never cease and the flea never dies;
Where the sunday is then hot if in it yous remain,
'Twill burn yous quite blackness on your government merits.

How happy am I on my government merits,
Where I've nothing to lose and nothing to proceeds;
Nothing to eat and goose egg to vesture,
Nothing from nothing is honest and square.
But here I am stuck, and here I must stay
My money's all gone, and I tin can't get abroad;
There's nothing to make a man difficult and profane
Like starving to death on a government claim.

Then come to Lane County, there's room for you all
Where the winds never stop and the rains never fall.
Come join in the chorus, and boast of her fame
While starving to decease on your government claim.
Now don't go discouraged, yous poor hungry men,
We're all here as free as a pig in a pen;
Just stick to your homestead and battle your fleas
And pray to your Maker to send you lot a breeze.

Now a discussion to claim holders who are spring for to stay
You may chew on your hardtack till you're toothless and gray;
But as for me, I'll no longer remain
And starve like a dog on my government claim.
Then farewell to Lane County, good day to the West
I'll travel back Due east to the girl I dear best;
I'll stop in Missouri and get me a wife
And live on corn dodgers the rest of my life.

T

THE TEXAS COWBOY

O, I'm a Texas cowboy and far away from home,
If I go dorsum to Texas, I never more will roam.
Montana is too cold for me and the winters are too long
Before the roundups do begin, your money is all gone.

To win these fancy leggins, you'll accept enough to do
They cost me xx dollars the twenty-four hours that they were new;
And this quondam hen-skin bedding is too thin to keep me warm
I nearly freeze to death, boys, whenever there'southward a tempest.

I've worked downwards in Nebraska where the grass grows ten anxiety loftier,
Where the cattle are such rustlers, they hardly ever dice;
I've worked upwardly in the Sand Hills and downward along the Platte
Where the punchers are good fellows and the cattle always fat.

I've traveled lots of country, from Nebraska'southward hills of sand
Down through the Indian Nation and upwards the Rio Grande
But the badlands of Montana are the worst I've ever seen
The cowboys are all tenderfeet and the dogies are likewise lean.

They wake you lot in the morning earlier the intermission of day
And transport you on a circumvolve a hundred miles away,
Your grub is breadstuff and salary and java black as ink
And h2o so full of alkali it'due south hardly fit to drink.

If you want to meet some badlands, become over to the Dry
You'll bog down in the coulees where the mountains meet the heaven.
With a tenderfoot to guide yous, who never knows the way
You are playing in the best of luck if you eat three times a mean solar day.

Upwards along the Yellowstone, it's cold the whole year circular,
And you'll surely get consumption if you sleep upon the ground;
Your pay is well-nigh nothing for six months in the year
And when your debts are settled, there'southward null left for beer.

At present all you lot Texas cowboys, this warning take from me,
Don't come upwardly to Montana to spend your coin free.
Simply stay at habitation in Texas where there's work the whole twelvemonth round
And you'll never become consumption from sleeping on the ground.

TEXAS RANGERS

Come all ye Texas Rangers wherever you may be,
I'll tell to you a story that happened unto me.
I night the age of xv years I joined a purple band,
We marched from San Antonio unto the Rio Grande.

And yet the captain told us,
Peradventure he idea information technology right,
" Before nosotros reach the station, boys,
I'yard sure we'll have to fight"'

We saw the Indians coming,
Nosotros heard them give their yell;
My feelings at that moment
No tongue could ever tell.

We saw their glittering lances,
Their arrows circular u.s. hailed.
My heart was sink (sic) within me,
My courage nearly failed.

I thought of my old mother,
Who in tears to me did say:
"To y'all they all are strangers,
With me you'd better stay."

I idea her weak and childish,
And that she did non know,
For I was bent on roaming
And I was leap to go.

We fought them total five hours
Before the fight gave o'er.
Iii hundred of our soldiers
Lay weltering in their gore.

3 hundred noble rangers
As always trod the West,
Nosotros laid them by their comrades,
Sweet peace to be their rest.

Perchance you have a female parent,
Too a sister besides,
And perhaps so a sweetheart
To cry and mourn for you.

If this should exist your status,
And you are bound to roam,
I advise you from experience
Yous'd better stay at home.

THE TRAIL TO MEXICO

I made up my mind to modify my style
To leave the crowd that was besides gay,
And leave my native dwelling house awhile
And travel w for many a mile.

Information technology was in the merry calendar month of May
When I started for Texas far abroad,
I left my darling girl backside
She said her middle was merely mine.

When I embraced her in my artillery
I idea she had x thousand charms
Her caresses soft, her kisses sweetness
Saying,"We'll get married next fourth dimension we meet."

It was in the year of '83
That A.J. Stinson hired me
He said,"Young human, I want you to go
And follow my herd into United mexican states."

Well, information technology was early on in the year
When I volunteered to bulldoze the steers
I can tell you boys, it was a lonesome get
As the herd rolled on toward Mexico.

When I arrived in Mexico
I longed for my girl, but I could not become
So I wrote a alphabetic character to my dear
But not a word did I ever hear.

I started back to my once-loved home
Inquired for the girl I called my own,
They said she'd married a richer life
"Therefore, cowboy, seek some other wife."

"O, expletive your aureate and your silvery, likewise,
O, curse the girls that don't prove true.
I'll go correct back to the Rio Grande
And get me a task with a cowboy band."

She said,"Oh, buddy, stay at dwelling
Don't exist forever on the roam.
There's many a girl more true than I
So please don't become where the bullets wing."

"Yes, I know girls more true than you
And I know girls who would evidence truthful;
But I'll go back where the bullets fly
And follow the cow trail 'til I die."

Problem For the Range Cook

Come wrangle your bronco and saddle him quick!
The cook is in trouble down there by the creek!
Oh, cinch upwards your latigoes all of your runts,
And pull 'em and then tight that your 'ol bronco grunts.
We'll need all the punchers the foreman can transport,
'Cuz the chuckwagons mired downward there by the curve.

The cattle are scattering all over the plain,
While the punchers are yelling in language profane!
But let 'em spread out-for the cooks in a muss,
And quicksand'south are causing the fellow to cuss.
Oh, this is the fourth dimension every puncher's his friend,
'Cuz the chuckwagon'south mired down in that location past the curve!

Come with your ropes that are heavy and stout!
No grub for the bunch till the wagon's pulled out!
Information technology'southward in to the hubs and sinking down tedious,
And cookie is a cussin' and watching information technology go!
Come, hustle, you punchers and booty him to land,
Before we are conquered past h2o and sand!

A-straining of ropes and a-grunting of nags,
And woe to the puncher whose lariat sags!
Information technology's spur them and quirt them and make them lay to-
And now she is moving! And now she is through!
Information technology's worth all the fourth dimension and effort required,
'Cuz it'southward zippo to consume when the chuckwagon is mired!

Tying Knots In the Devil'south Tail

Abroad upwardly high in the Sierra Peaks,
Where the yellow pines stand alpine,
Ol' Sandy Bob and Buster Jig
Had a rodeer camp terminal fall.
Oh, they taken their horses and running irons,
And possibly a dawg or two,
And they 'lowed they'd brand all the long eared calves,
That come within their view.

And any old long eared dogie that flapped long ears,
And didn't brush up by day,
Got his long ears whittled and his old hid scortched,
In a almost artistic way.
Now one fine day quondam Sandy Bob,
He throwed his soogun downwards,
"I'grand sick of the odor of burnin' hair,
And I 'lows I'm a-going to boondocks."

And then they saddled up and hits a lope,
For it weren't no site of a ride,
And them was the days a Buckeroo
Could oil upwards his within.
Oh, they starts her in at the Kentucky Bar,
At the caput of Whisky Row,
And they winds upwardly down by the Depot House,
Some xl drinks below.

They and then sets up and turns around,
And goes her the other way,
And to tell you the Gawd-forsaken truth,
Them boys got stewed that solar day.
As they was a ridin' back to camp,
A packin' a pretty good load,
Who should they run into but the Devil himself,
A-prancin' down the route.

Says he, "You lot ornery cowboy skunks,
You'd better hunt your holes,
For I've come up from Hell's Rim Stone,
To assemble in your souls."
Says Sandy Bob, "Onetime Devil be durned,
We boys is kinda tight,
But you aint a-goin' to get together no cowboy souls,
'Thout you has some kind of a fight."

So Sand Bob punched a hole in his rope,
And he swang her straight and truthful,
He lapped it on to the Devil'south horns,
And he taken his dallies too.
Now Buster Jig was a riata man,
With his gut line coiled up dandy,
So  he shaken her out an' he built him a loop,
And he lassoed the Devil's hind feet.

Oh, they stretched him out an' they tailed him downwardly,
While the irons was a gettin' hot,
They cropped and swallow forked his ears,
Then they branded him upwardly a lot.
They pruned him up with a de-hornin' saw
And they knotted his tail for a joke,
They then rode off and left him there,
Necked to a Black-Jack oak.

If yous're ever up high in the Sierra Peaks,
And you lot hear one hell of a wail,
You'll know its the Devil a-bellerin' around,
About them knots in his tail.

U

Five

W

The Wagoner's Lad

My horses ain't hungry, they won't swallow your hay,
It's cheerio honey Polly, I'm riding abroad:
Your parents despise me 'crusade I'm over poor;
They say I own't fittin' to enter your door!

I'yard just a poor cowboy, I don't own no herd;
I ain't got much money, but give you my word,
I'one thousand handy at roping up poor loneful strays,
And we'll sure be rich 'fore the end of our days.

Dear Polly, you promised to be my own married woman,
You vowed for to wed me and share all through life,
And so heed you words, Polly, I've not long to stay:
Please pack up your duds and nosotros'll ride far away!

You know I'm your Polly, your sweet loving dear;
Cause my kin despise yous, don't you accept a fearfulness.
Only calm downwardly your feelings and enhance upward your head;
I know you're the fittin' man for me to wed.

Yep, Tom, I'll go with you, though you're poor, I'm told,
But information technology's love I'm wanting, not silver or gold-
Tie on my belongings, we'll ride till we come
To some far off cabin, and there make our home!

I mourn for to leave maw, she treats me and so fine,
Merely I've given my promise to you, cowboy mine!
And so I'll bid good-farewell to my parents this day,
So we'll mount our ponies and lope far away.

Far over the mountains we'll come to a balance
In a pretty valley, and build us a nest:
Nosotros'll enhance a big herd, and a fine family,
And live our lives there, Tom, all happily!

X

Y

Z

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