Attributed where known

 

Chisholm Trail

 

Oh come along, boys, and listen to my tale,

I'll tell you all my troubles on the of Chis'm trail.

 

Chorus:

 

Come a-ti yi youpy youpy ya youpy yay,

Come a-ti yi youpy youpy yay.

 

On a ten-dollar horse and a forty-dollar saddle,

I was ridin', and a-punchin' Texas cattle.

 

We left of Texas October twenty-third,

Drivin' up trail with a 2 U Herd.

 

I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight,

An' afore I sleep the moon shines bright..

 

It's bacon and beans most every day,

I'd as soon be eatin' prairie hay.

 

Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss,

But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss.

 

Old Ben Bolt was a mighty good man,

And you'd know there was whisky wherever he'd land.

 

I woke up one mornin' on the Chisholm trail,

With a rope in my hand and a cow by the tail.

 

Last night on guard, an' the leader broke the ranks,

I hit my horse down the shoulders an' spurred him in the flanks.

 

Oh it's cloudy in the west, and a-lookin' like rain,

And my damned of slicker's in the wagon again.

 

Oh the wind commenced to blow and the rain began to fall.

An' it looked by grab that we was gonna lose 'em all.

 

I jumped in the saddle an' I grabbed a-holt the horn,

The best damned cowpuncher ever was born.

 

I was on my best horse, and a-goin' on the run,

The quickest-shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.

 

No chaps, no slicker, and it's pourin' down rain,

An' I swear, by God, I'll never nightherd again.

 

I herded and I hollered, and I done pretty well,

Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to Hell."

 

I'm goin' to the ranch to draw my money,

Goin' into town to see my Honey.

 

I went to the boss to draw my roll,

He figgered me out nine dollars in the hole.

 

So I'll sell my outfit as fast as I can,

And I won't punch cows for no damn man.

 

So I sold old Baldy and I hung up my saddle,

And I bid farewell to the longhorn cattle.

 

Whoope Ti Yi Yo

 

As I was a walk-in' one morn-ing for pleas-ure,

I saw a cow-punch-er a rid-in' a-long.

His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a ,jing-lin;

And as he a approached he was sing-in' this song,

 

Chorus (to be sung after each stanza)

 

Whoo - pee: Ti- yi- o, Git a long lit-tle dog-ies;

It's your mis- for- tune, And none of my own,

Whoopee: Ti-yi-o, Git a - long lit-tle dog-ies,

For you know that Wy-om-ing will be your new home.

(Repeat)

 

Oh, early in the springtime we round up the dogies,

Mark 'em and brand 'em and bob off their tails.

Then round up the horses, and load the chuckwagon,

And then throw the dogies out on the long trail.

 

Untitled

 

Oh, some boys goes up the trail for pleasure,

But that's where they gets it most awfully wrong.

For you have no idea the trouble they give us,

While we go a-driving them all along.

Oh, your mothers was raised away down in Texas,

Where the jimpson weed and the sandburs grow.

Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla,

Till you're ready for the trail to Idaho.

 

Oh, you will be soup for Uncle Sam's Injuns,

It's "Beef-heap beef" I hear them cry.

Git along, git along, git along little dogies,

You'll be beef Steers bye and bye.

 

Oh, I ain't got no father; I ain't got no mother,

My friends, they all left me when first I did roam.

I ain't got no sister; I ain't got no brother,

I'm a poor lonesome cowboy an' a long ways from home

 

Texas Rangers

 

Come, all ye Texas rangers, wherever you may be,

I'll tell ye of some trouble that happened unto me.

Come, all ye Texas rangers, I'm sure I wish you well,

My name is nothing extra, so that I will not tell.

 

When at the age of Sixteen I joined the jolly band,

That marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande.

Our Captain he informed us, I suppose he thought it right,

"Before you reach the Station, my boys, you'll have to fight."

 

We saw the Indians coming, we heard them give the yell;

My feelings at that moment, no human tongue can tell.

We saw the glittering lances, the arrows round me hailed;

My heart it sank within, my courage almost failed.

 

We fought them nine long hours before the Strife was o'er,

And the like of dead and dying I never saw before.

Twelve of the noblest rangers that ever roamed the West,

Were buried with their comrades and Sank in peace to rest.

 

Then I thought of my dear mother, who through tears to me did say,

"These men to you are strangers; with me you'd better stay."

But I thought her old and childish, the best she did not know,

For my mind was bent on rambling and rambling I did go.

 

Perhaps you have a mother, perhaps a sister, too;

Likewise you have a sweetheart to weep and moan for you.

If this be your condition and you're inclined to roam,

I'll tell you by experience you'd better stay at home.

 

Jake and Rome

 

Jake and Rome were ridin' along,

Jake was singin' what he called a song,

When up from a gully what Should appear

But a mossbacked sooky and a bald-faced steer.

 

Jake started after with his hat pulled down,

He built. himself a 'locker that would snare a town,

But the steer he headed for the setting sun,

And believe me, neighbor, he could hump and run.

 

Rome followed up his partner's deal

Two old waddies that could head and heel

Both of them a-workin' for the Chicken

Coop With a red hot iron and a hungry loop.

 

The sun was shinin' in old Jake's eyes,

And he wasn't ready for no great surprise,

When the steer gave a wiggle like his dress was tight,

And he busted through a juniper, and dropped from sight.

 

Old Jake's pony done a figure 8,

Jake done his addin' just a mite too late.

He left the saddle a-seein' red,

And he landed in the gravel of a river bed.

 

Now Rome's horse was a good horse, too,

But he couldn't figure out just where Jake flew;

So he humped and he started for the cavvyard,

And he left Rome sittin' where the ground was hard.

 

Jake Sat a-holdin' up his swelled up thumb,

Says he, "I reckon we was goin' some!"

When Rome he bellered, "Get away from here,

Or you're goin' to get tangled with that bald-faced steer!"

 

Rome clumb a-straddle of a juniper tree,

"There's no more room up here," says he.

So Jake he figures for himself to save

By backin' in the opening of a cutback cave.

 

The Steer he charged with his head 'way down,

A-rollin' his eyes and a-pawin' the ground

Hookin' and a-sniffln' and a-turnin' about,

Every time he quit old Jake come out!

 

Rome said, "You old fool, back out of sight,

You act like you're hankerin' to make him fight!"

When Jake he answered sort of fierce and queer:

"Back, hell, nothin'; there's a bear in here!"

 

Blood on the Saddle

 

There's b-lood on the saddle,

There's b-lood all around.

And a great big puddle

Of blood on the ground.

 

Oh, pity the cowboy,

So bloody and red.

His pony fell on him,

And mashed in his head.

 

The Lone Prairie

 

Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,

Where the wild coyote will howl o'er me,

And the rattlesnake coiling there o'er me.

Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie.

"Oh, bury me not," and his voice failed there;

But they listened not to his dying prayer;

In a narrow grave just six by three

They laid him there on the lone prairie.

Where the dewdrops fall and the butterfly rest,

The wild rose bloom on the prairie's crest;

Where the coyotes howl and the wind blows free,

They buried him there on the lone prairie.

 

The Cowboy's Lament

 

Come sit beside me and hear my sad story

 

Tell one and the other before they go.

further to stop their wild roaming before it's too late.

 

My friends and re-la-tions they live in the na - tion:

They know not whith- er their poor boy has roamed,

I first took to drink - ing and then to card play- ing,

Got shot in the bos- om and death is my doom,

 

My friends and relations they live in the Nation;

They know not whither their poor boy has roamed;

I first took to drinking and then to card-playing,

Got shot in the bosom and death is my doom.

 

So write me a letter to my gray-haired mother,

And write me a letter to sister so dear,

Then there is another who's dearer than my mother

Who'd weep if she knew I was dying out here.

 

Then beat the drums slowly and play the fife lowly

And play the dead march as you carry me along;

Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me,

For I'm a poor cowboy, and I know I've done wrong.

 

I've Got No Use for the Women

 

I've got no use for the women;

A true one may never be found;

They'll stand by a man when he's winning,

And laugh in his face when he's down.

My pal was a straight young puncher,

Honest and upright and square;

He became a gambler and gunman,

And a woman sent him there.

If she'd been the pal that she should have,

He might have been raisin' a son

Instead of out there on the prairies

To fall by the ranger's gun.

 

When a vaquero insulted her picture

He filled him full of lead.

 

All the night long they trailed him

O'er mesquite and gay chaparral;

And I couldn't help think of that woman

As I saw him pitch and fall.

He raised his head on his elbow,

The blood from his wounds flowed red;

He looked around at his comrades,

Whispered to them and said:

 

Oh, bury me out on the prairie

Where the coyotes may howl o'er my grave.

Bury me out on the prairie,

Some of my bones to save.

Wrap me up in my blanket;

Bury me deep in the ground,

Then cover me over with boulders

Of granite huge and round.

 

So we buried him out on the prairie,

Where the coyotes still howl o'er his grave;

And his soul is now a-resting

From the unkind touch she gave;

And many another young puncher

As he rides by that pile of stones,

Recalls some similar woman,

And envies his mould'ring bones.

 

Springfield Mountain

 

On Spring-field moun - tain there did dwell

A come - ly youth, I knew him well

Ti - roo - ri, roo - ri, roo - ri - ray;

Ti - roo - ri, roo - ri, roo - ri ra - a - ay, roo - ri - ray.

 

On Monday morning, he did go Out in the meadow for to mo-o-ow.

(Refrain.)

 

As he was mowing, he did feel

A pizen sarpint bite his he-e-el.

(Refrain.)

 

Oh Molly, Molly, come and see

A pizen sarpint bited me-e-e.

Refrain.)

 

Then Molly knelt on her knee

And sucked the pizen out of he-e-e.

(Refrain.)

 

But Molly had a rotten tooth

And so the pizen killed them bo-o-oth.

(Refrain.)

 

Young Charlotte lived on a mountain side, In a wild and lonely spot, There was no house for ten miles around, Except her father's cot.

 

Oh, no, Oh, no," young Charlotte cried,

And she laughed like a gypsy queen;

"To ride in blankets muffed up

I never will be seen."

 

Her parents mourned for their daughter dear,

And Charles wept o'er the gloom,

Till at last young Charles too died of grief,

And they both lie in one tomb.

 

Young ladies, think of this fair girl

And always dress aright,

And never venture thinly clad

On such a wintry night.

 

Son of a Gamboleer

 

I drink my whisky clear,

I'm a roving rake of poverty,

The son of a gamboleer.

 

Wake Drovers

 

Wake, Snake, day's a-breakin'!

Peas in the pot, and the hoe-cake's a-bakin'!

 

My Lover's a Rider

 

My lover's a rider, a rider so fine;

The steed is his sov'reign; the rider is mine.

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la,

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

 

Blue eyes and brown hair, and right noble in mien;

Oh, charming and fair is my lover, I ween.

My heart is a castle well-bolted and grim;

My love is the pass-key; it opens to him.

 

My lover's away; he is over the sea;

I need not be told he is thinking of me.

If you have a lover so noble and true;

I'll finish my song and then listen to you.

 

10,000 Miles Away

 

On the banks of a lone - ly riv- er,

Ten thous- and miles a - way.

Then blame me not for weep - ing;

Oh, blame me not, I pray,

For I've an ag - ad moth - or

Whose hair is turning gray

 

Chorus

Then blame me not for weep - ing;

Oh, blame me not, I pray,

For I've an ag - ad moth - or

Ten thou - sand miles a - way.

 

Cowboy's Dream

 

Last night as I lay on the prairie

And looked at the stars in the sky,

I wondered if ever a cowboy

Would drift to the sweet bye and bye.

 

And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,

A maverick, unbranded on high,

And get out in the bunch with the "rustler,"

When the Boss of the Riders goes by.

 

Night Herding Song

 

Oh, move slow, dogies; quit roving around,

You have wandered and trampled all over the ground.

Oh, graze along, dogies, and feed kinda slow,

And don't forever be on the go.

Move slow, little dogies, move slow,

Hi-o, Hi-o-o-o-o.

 

I've circle herded and night herded too,

But to keep you together! That's what I can't do.

My horse is leg weary, and I'm awful tired,

But if you get away I am sure to get fired.

Bunch up, little dogies, bunch up,

on the go. Move slow, lit - tle do - gies, move slow.

Hi-o, Hi-o-o-o-o.

 

Oh, lay still, dogies, since you have laid down,

Stretch away out on the big open ground.

Snore loud little dogies and drown the wild sounds

That will all go away when the day rolls around.

Lay still, little dogies, lay still,

Hi-o, Hi-o-o-o-o (Repeat) Hi-o, Hi-o-o-o-o.

 

"THE OCEAN BURIAL"

 

'Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea!'

These words came faint and mournfully

From the pallid lips of a youth who lay

On his cabin couch, where day by day,

He had wasted and pined, until o'er his brow,

The death sweats had slowly passed, and now,

The scenes of his fondly loved home was nigh,

And they gathered around him to see him die."

 

THE DYING COWBOY

 

`Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie';

Those words came slow and mournfully

From the pallid lips of a youth that lay

On his dying couch at the close of day.

He had wasted and pined till o'er his brow

Death's shadows fast were drawing now;

He had thought of home and the loved ones nigh,

As the cowboys gathered to see him die."

 

Drummer Boy of Shiloh

 

"On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground

The dead and wounded lay;

Among them was the drummer boy,

Who beat the drum that day.

"A wounded soldier held him up,

His drum was by his side;

He clasped his hands and raised his eyes,

And prayed before be died."

 

Guard Croon

 

"Then an e-e-e-lee-a-a-a,

And an a-a-ah-lee-oo-

My little bedded doggies,

 

 

I am a-a-a-watchin' you.

 

Drop you down and don't you go stampedin',

Coyote's jes'a-foolin' over there;

Ain't a bit o' danger in his yippin' and his yapin'-

Show the prairie bluff you don't care.

Then an e-e-e-lee-a-a-a,

And an a-a-ah-lee-oo-

My little bedded doggies,

I am a-a-a-wathin' you."

 

What keeps the herd from running,

Stampeding far and wide?

The cowboy's long, low whistle,

And singing by their side.

 

"A Cowboy in the City":

"-But still I am homesick and weary;

The city somehow hits me wrong.

Its music seems holler and dreary,

For I'd rather hear that old song

"Bury me not on the lone prairie-'

 

'Twould sure give my feelin's a change,

For dog-gone the luck, I always was stuck

On the songs that we sing on the range.

Back home I would talk to my neighbor,

No matter if never before

I'd met him, and surely would labor

To jes' git acquainted and more.

Out West you kin gab free and easy,

And strangers their views may exchange.

Why, dog-gone the luck I always was stuck

On the whole-hearted ways of the range."

 

"When my soul hunts range and rest:

Beyond the last divide,

Just plant me on some strip of West,

That's sunny, lone, and wide.

Let the cattle rub my headstone round,

And coyotes wail their kin,

Let horses come and paw the mound-

BUT-don't you fence me in."

 

"Jesse James was a lad that killed many a man-

He robbed the Danville train.

But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard,

Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.

 

Poor Jesse has a wife to mourn for his life,

Three children, they were brave,

But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard,

Has laid poor Jesse in his grave."

 

He was little Joe, the wrangler,

He'll wrangle nevermore

His days with the remuda, they are o'er

Was a year ago last April

That he rode into our camp

Just a little Texas stray and all alone

 

His saddle was a Texas kak,

Made many years ago

With an OK spur on one foot lightly slung

His bedroll in the cotton sack

Was loosely tied behind

And his canteen o'er his saddle horn was hung

 

He said if we would give him work

He'd do the best he could

Though he didn't know straightup about a cow

So the boss he cut him out a mount

And he kindly put him on

'Cause he sort o' liked this little kid somehow

 

He learned to wrangle horses,

And know 'em all by name

And get them in by daybreak, if he could

To follow the chuckwagon

And always hitch the team

And help the Cocinero rustle wood

 

Well, we'd driven down the Pecos,

The weather being fine

We camped on the south side in a bend

When a norther started blowin,

And we called out every man

For it'd taken all us hands to hold 'em in

 

Well, Little Joe, the wrangler,

Was called out with the rest

Although the kid had scarcely reached the herd

When the cattle they stampeded,

Like a hailstorm 'long they fled

And we was all a' ridin for the lead

 

Amid'st the streaks of lightin

We could see a horse ahead

T'was little Joe, the wrangler, in the lead

He was ridin old Blue Rocket

With a slicker o'er his head

A tryin to check the cattle in their speed

 

At last we got them millin'

And kind'a quieted down

And the extra guard back to the wagon went

But one o' them was missin',

And we knew it at a glance

Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangling Joe

 

Next mornin', just at daybreak,

We found where Rocket fell

In a washout twenty feet below

And beneath his horse, smashed to a pulp,

His spur had rung the knell

Was a little Texas stray, poor wranglin' Joe

 

Way high up in the Sierry Petes

Where the yellow pines grow tall,

Sandy Bob and Buster Jiggs

Had a round-up camp last fall.

They took their horses and their running irons

And maybe a dog or two,

And they 'lowed they'd brand all the long-eared calves

That came within their view.

Well many a long-eared dogie

That didn't hush up by day,

Had his long ears whittled and his old hide scorched

In a most artistic way.

 

Then one fine day, says Buster Jiggs,

As he throwed his seago down,

"I'm tired of cow biography

And allows I'm a goin' to town."

They saddles up, and they hits them a lope

For it weren't no side to the ride,

And them was the days when an old cow-hand

Could oil up his old insides.

 

They starts her out at the Kentucky Bar,

At the head of the Whisky Row,

And they winds her up at the Depot House

Some forty drinks below.

They sets her up and turns her around

And goes her the other way,

And to tell you the Lord-forsaken truth

Them boys got drunk that day.

 

Well, as they was a headin' back to camp

And packin' a pretty good load

Who should they meet but the Devil himself

Come prancin' down the road?

Now the Devil he said, "You cowboy skunks

You better go hunt your hole,

'Cause I've come up from the Hell's rim rock

To gather in your souls."

 

Said Buster Jiggs, "Now we're just from town,"

And feelin' kinda tight;

And you ain't gonna get no cowboys' souls

Without some kind of a fight."

So he punched a hole in his old throw rope

And he slings it straight and true

And he roped the devil right around the horns

He takes his dallies true.

 

Old Sandy Bob was a reata man

With his rope all coiled up neat;

But he shakes her out and he builds him a loop

And he roped the Devil's hind feet.

They threw him down on the desert ground

While the irons was-a getting hot,

They cropped and swallow-forked his ears

And branded him up a lot.

 

And they pruned him up with a dehorning saw,

And knotted his tail for a joke,

Rode off and left him bellowing there

Necked up to a lilac-jack oak.

Well, if you ever travel in the Sierry Petes

And you hear one awful wail,

Well you know it ain't nothin but the Devil himself

Raisin' hell about the knots in his tail