полная версия
Various
Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
LACKEY BILL
Come all you good old boys and listen to my rhymes,
We are west of Eastern Texas and mostly men of crimes;
Each with a hidden secret well smothered in his breast,
Which brought us out to Mexico, way out here in the West.
My parents raised me tenderly, they had no child but me,
Till I began to ramble and with them could never agree.
My mind being bent on rambling did grieve their poor hearts sore,
To leave my aged parents them to see no more.
I was borned and raised in Texas, though never come to fame,
A cowboy by profession, C.W. King, by name.
Oh, when the war was ended I did not like to work,
My brothers were not happy, for I had learned to shirk.
In fact I was not able, my health was very bad,
I had no constitution, I was nothing but a lad.
I had no education, I would not go to school,
And living off my parents I thought it rather cool.
So I set a resolution to travel to the West,
My parents they objected, but still I thought it best.
It was out on the Seven Rivers all out on the Pecos stream,
It was there I saw a country I thought just suited me.
I thought I would be no stranger and lead a civil life,
In order to be happy would choose myself a wife.
On one Sabbath evening in the merry month of May
To a little country singing I happened there to stray.
It was there I met a damsel I never shall forget,
The impulse of that moment remains within me yet.
We soon became acquainted, I thought she would fill the bill,
She seemed to be good-natured, which helps to climb the hill.
She was a handsome figure though not so very tall;
Her hair was red as blazes, I hate it worst of all.
I saw her home one evening in the presence of her pap,
I bid them both good evening with a note left in her lap.
And when I got an answer I read it with a rush,
I found she had consented, my feelings was a hush.
But now I have changed my mind, boys, I am sure I wish her well.
Here's to that precious jewel, I'm sure I wish her well.
This girl was Miss Mollie Walker who fell in love with me,
She was a lovely Western girl, as lovely as could be,
She was so tall, so handsome, so charming and so fair,
There is not a girl in this whole world with her I could compare.
She said my pockets would be lined with gold, hard work then I'd leave o'er
If I'd consent to live with her and say I'd roam no more.
My mind began to ramble and it grieved my poor heart sore,
To leave my darling girl, her to see no more.
I asked if it made any difference if I crossed o'er the plains;
She said it made no difference if I returned again.
So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, I left that girl behind.
She said she'd prove true to me till death proved her unkind.
I rode in the town of Vagus, all in the public square;
The mail coach had arrived, the post boy met me there.
He handed me a letter that gave me to understand
That the girl I loved in Texas had married another man.
So I read a little farther and found those words were true.
I turned myself all around, not knowing what to do.
I'll sell my horse, saddle, and bridle, cow-driving I'll resign,
I'll search this world from town to town for the girl I left behind.
Here the gold I find in plenty, the girls to me are kind,
But my pillow is haunted with the girl I left behind.
It's trouble and disappointment is all that I can see,
For the dearest girl in all the world has gone square back on me.
WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES
As I walked out one morning for pleasure,
I spied a cow-puncher all riding alone;
His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a jingling,
As he approached me a-singin' this song,
Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,
It's your misfortune, and none of my own.
Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,
For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
Early in the spring we round up the dogies,
Mark and brand and bob off their tails;
Round up our horses, load up the chuck-wagon,
Then throw the dogies upon the trail.
It's whooping and yelling and driving the dogies;
Oh how I wish you would go on;
It's whooping and punching and go on little dogies,
For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
Some boys goes up the trail for pleasure,
But that's where you get it most awfully wrong;
For you haven't any idea the trouble they give us
While we go driving them all along.
When the night comes on and we hold them on the bedground,
These little dogies that roll on so slow;
Roll up the herd and cut out the strays,
And roll the little dogies that never rolled before.
Your mother she was raised way down in Texas,
Where the jimson weed and sand-burrs grow;
Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla
Till you are ready for the trail to Idaho.
Oh, you'll 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're going to be beef steers by and by.
THE U-S-U RANGE
O come cowboys and listen to my song,
I'm in hopes I'll please you and not keep you long;
I'll sing you of things you may think strange
About West Texas and the U-S-U range.
You may go to Stamford and there see a man
Who wears a white shirt and is asking for hands;
You may ask him for work and he'll answer you short,
He will hurry you up, for he wants you to start.
He will put you in a wagon and be off in the rain,
You will go up on Tongue River on the U-S-U range.
You will drive up to the ranch and there you will stop.
It's a little sod house with dirt all on top.
You will ask what it is and they will tell you out plain
That it's the ranch house on the U-S-U range.
You will go in the house and he will begin to explain;
You will see some blankets rolled up on the floor;
You may ask what it is and they will tell you out plain
That it is the bedding on the U-S-U range.
You are up in the morning at the daybreak
To eat cold beef and U-S-U steak,
And out to your work no matter if it's rain,—
And that is the life on the U-S-U range.
You work hard all day and come in at night,
And turn your horse loose, for they say it's all right,
And set down to supper and begin to complain
Of the chuck that you eat on the U-S-U range.
The grub that you get is beans and cold rice
And U-S-U steak cooked up very nice;
And if you don't like that you needn't complain,
For that's what you get on the U-S-U range.
Now, kind friends, I must leave you, I no longer can remain,
I hope I have pleased you and given you no pain.
But when I am gone, don't think me strange,
For I have been a cow-puncher on the U-S-U range.
I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL
Oh, I'm a good old rebel, that's what I am;
And for this land of freedom, I don't care a damn,
I'm glad I fought agin her, I only wish we'd won,
And I don't axe any pardon for anything I've done.
I served with old Bob Lee, three years about,
Got wounded in four places and starved at Point Lookout;
I caught the rheumatism a-campin' in the snow,
But I killed a chance of Yankees and wish I'd killed some mo'.
For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
I hate the constitooshin, this great republic too;
I hate the mouty eagle, an' the uniform so blue;
I hate their glorious banner, an' all their flags an' fuss,
Those lyin', thievin' Yankees, I hate 'em wuss an' wuss.
For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
I won't be re-constructed! I'm better now than them;
And for a carpet-bagger, I don't give a damn;
So I'm off for the frontier, soon as I can go,
I'll prepare me a weapon and start for Mexico.
For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
THE COWBOY
All day long on the prairies I ride,
Not even a dog to trot by my side;
My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,
My coffee I boil without being ground.
I wash in a pool and wipe on a sack;
I carry my wardrobe all on my back;
For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot,
And sleep on the ground for want of a cot.
My ceiling is the sky, my floor is the grass,
My music is the lowing of the herds as they pass;
My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones,
My parson is a wolf on his pulpit of bones.
And then if my cooking is not very complete
You can't blame me for wanting to eat.
But show me a man that sleeps more profound
Than the big puncher-boy who stretches himself on the ground.
My books teach me ever consistence to prize,
My sermons, that small things I should not despise;
My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones
That fortune favors those who look out for their own.
And then between me and love lies a gulf very wide.
Some lucky fellow may call her his bride.
My friends gently hint I am coming to grief,
But men must make money and women have beef.
But Cupid is always a friend to the bold,
And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.
Society bans me so savage and dodge
That the Masons would ball me out of their lodge.
If I had hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat
That bore all the sins in the ages remote;
But why it is I can never understand,
For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand.
Abraham emigrated in search of a range,
And when water was scarce he wanted a change;
Old Isaac owned cattle in charge of Esau,
And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law.
He started in business way down at bed rock,
And made quite a streak at handling stock;
Then David went from night-herding to using a sling;
And, winning the battle, he became a great king.
Then the shepherds, while herding the sheep on a hill,
Got a message from heaven of peace and goodwill.
BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER
Bill Peters was a hustler
From Independence town;
He warn't a college scholar
Nor man of great renown,
But Bill had a way o' doing things
And doin' 'em up brown.
Bill driv the stage from Independence
Up to the Smokey Hill;
And everybody knowed him thar
As Independence Bill,—
Thar warn't no feller on the route
That driv with half the skill.
Bill driv four pair of horses,
Same as you'd drive a team,
And you'd think you was a-travelin'
On a railroad driv by steam;
And he'd git thar on time, you bet,
Or Bill 'u'd bust a seam.
He carried mail and passengers,
And he started on the dot,
And them teams o' his'n, so they say,
Was never known to trot;
But they went it in a gallop
And kept their axles hot.
When Bill's stage 'u'd bust a tire,
Or something 'u'd break down,
He'd hustle round and patch her up
And start off with a bound;
And the wheels o' that old shack o' his
Scarce ever touched the ground.
And Bill didn't low no foolin',
And when Inguns hove in sight
And bullets rattled at the stage,
He druv with all his might;
He'd holler, "Fellers, give 'em hell,
I ain't got time to fight."
Then the way them wheels 'u'd rattle,
And the way the dust 'u'd fly,
You'd think a million cattle,
Had stampeded and gone by;
But the mail 'u'd get thar just the same,
If the horses had to die.
He driv that stage for many a year
Along the Smokey Hill,
And a pile o' wild Comanches
Did Bill Peters have to kill,—
And I reckon if he'd had good luck
He'd been a drivin' still.
But he chanced one day to run agin
A bullet made o' lead,
Which was harder than he bargained for
And now poor Bill is dead;
And when they brung his body home
A barrel of tears was shed.
HARD TIMES
Come listen a while and I'll sing you a song
Concerning the times—it will not be long—
When everybody is striving to buy,
And cheating each other, I cannot tell why,—
And it's hard, hard times.
From father to mother, from sister to brother,
From cousin to cousin, they're cheating each other.
Since cheating has grown to be so much the fashion,
I believe to my soul it will run the whole Nation,—
And it's hard, hard times.
Now there is the talker, by talking he eats,
And so does the butcher by killing his meats.
He'll toss the steelyards, and weigh it right down,
And swear it's just right if it lacks forty pounds,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there is the merchant, as honest, we're told.
Whatever he sells you, my friend, you are sold;
Believe what I tell you, and don't be surprised
To find yourself cheated half out of your eyes,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there is the lawyer you plainly will see,
He will plead your case for a very large fee,
He'll law you and tell you the wrong side is right,
And make you believe that a black horse is white,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there is the doctor, I like to forgot,
I believe to my soul he's the worst of the lot;
He'll tell you he'll cure you for half you possess,
And when you're buried he'll take all the rest,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the old bachelor, all hated with scorn,
He's like an old garment all tattered and torn,
The girls and the widows all toss him a sigh,
And think it quite right, and so do I,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the young widow, coquettish and shy,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye,
But when she gets married she'll cut quite a dash,
She'll give him the reins and she'll handle the cash,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the young lady I like to have missed,
And I believe to my soul she'd like to be kissed;
She'll tell you she loves you with all pretence
And ask you to call again some time hence,—
And it's hard, hard times.
And there's the young man, the worst of the whole.
Oh, he will tell you with all of his soul,
He'll tell you he loves you and for you will die,
And when he's away he will swear it's a lie,—
And it's hard, hard times.
COLE YOUNGER
Am one of a band of highwaymen, Cole Younger is my name;
My crimes and depredations have brought my friends to shame;
The robbing of the Northfield Bank, the same I can't deny,
For now I am a prisoner, in the Stillwater jail I lie.
'Tis of a bold, high robbery, a story to you I'll tell,
Of a California miner who unto us befell;
We robbed him of his money and bid him go his way,
For which I will be sorry until my dying day.
And then we started homeward, when brother Bob did say:
"Now, Cole, we will buy fast horses and on them ride away.
We will ride to avenge our father's death and try to win the prize;
We will fight those anti-guerrillas until the day we die."
And then we rode towards Texas, that good old Lone Star State,
But on Nebraska's prairies the James boys we did meet;
With knives, guns, and revolvers we all sat down to play,
A-drinking of good whiskey to pass the time away.
A Union Pacific railway train was the next we did surprise,
And the crimes done by our bloody hands bring tears into my eyes.
The engineerman and fireman killed, the conductor escaped alive,
And now their bones lie mouldering beneath Nebraska's skies.
Then we saddled horses, northwestward we did go,
To the God-forsaken country called Min-ne-so-te-o;
I had my eye on the Northfield bank when brother Bob did say,
"Now, Cole, if you undertake the job, you will surely curse the day."
But I stationed out my pickets and up to the bank did go,
And there upon the counter I struck my fatal blow.
"Just hand us over your money and make no further delay,
We are the famous Younger brothers, we spare no time to pray."
MISSISSIPPI GIRLS
Come, all you Mississippi girls, and listen to my noise,
If you happen to go West, don't you marry those Texian boys;
For if you do, your fortune will be
Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see,—
Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see.
When they go courting, here's what they wear:
An old leather coat, and it's all ripped and tore;
And an old brown hat with the brim tore down,
And a pair of dirty socks, they've worn the winter round.
When one comes in, the first thing you hear
Is, "Madam, your father has killed a deer";
And the next thing they say when they sit down
Is, "Madam, the jonny-cake is too damned brown."
They live in a hut with hewed log wall,
But it ain't got any windows at all;
With a clap-board roof and a puncheon floor,
And that's the way all Texas o'er.
They will take you out on a live-oak hill
And there they will leave you much against your will.
They will leave you on the prairie, starve you on the plains,
For that is the way with the Texians,—
For that is the way with the Texians.
When they go to preaching let me tell you how they dress;
Just an old black shirt without any vest,
Just an old straw hat more brim than crown
And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round,—
And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round.
For your wedding supper, there'll be beef and cornbread;
There it is to eat when the ceremony's said.
And when you go to milk you'll milk into a gourd;
And set it in the corner and cover it with a board;
Some gets little and some gets none,
For that is the way with the Texians,—
For that is the way with the Texians.
THE OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL
There was an old man who lived under the hill,
Chir-u-ra-wee, lived under the hill,
And if he ain't dead he's living there still,
Chir-u-ra-wee, living there still.
One day the old man went out to plow,
Chir-u-ra-wee, went out to plow;
'Tis good-bye the old fellow, and how are you now,
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, and how are you now.
And then another came to his house,
Chir-u-ra-wee, came to his house;
"There's one of your family I've got to have now,
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got to have now.
"It's neither you nor your oldest son,
Chir-u-ra-wee, nor your oldest son."
"Then take my old woman and take her for fun,
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, take her for fun."
He takened her all upon his back,
Chir-u-ra-wee, upon his back,
And like an old rascal went rickity rack,
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, went rickity rack.
But when he got half way up the road,
Chir-u-ra-wee, up the road,
Says he, "You old lady, you're sure a load,"
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, you're sure a load.
He set her down on a stump to rest,
Chir-u-ra-wee, stump to rest;
She up with a stick and hit him her best.
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, hit him her best.
He taken her on to hell's old gate,
Chir-u-ra-wee, hell's old gate,
But when he got there he got there too late,
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got there too late.
And so he had to keep his wife,
Chir-u-ra-wee, had to keep his wife,
And keep her he did for the rest of his life.
Sing chir-u-ra-wee, for the rest of his life.
JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR
Come all ye railroad section men an' listen to my song,
It is of Larry O'Sullivan who now is dead and gone.
For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar—
Oh, it's "j'int ahead and cinter back,
An' Jerry, go ile that car!"
For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar,
But it's "j'int ahead an cinter back,
An' Jerry, go ile that car-r-r!"
For twinty years a section boss, he worked upon the track,
And be it to his cred-i-it he niver had a wrack.
For he kept every j'int right up to the p'int wid the tap of the tampin-bar-r-r;
And while the byes was a-swimmin' up the ties,
It's "Jerry, wud yez ile that car-r-r!"
God rest ye, Larry O'Sullivan, to me ye were kind and good;
Ye always made the section men go out and chop me wood;
An' fetch me wather from the well an' chop me kindlin' fine;
And any man that wouldn't lind a hand, 'twas Larry give him his Time.
And ivery Sunday morni-i-ing unto the gang he'd say:
"Me byes, prepare—yez be aware the ould lady goes to church the day.
Now, I want ivery man to pump the best he can, for the distance it is far-r-r;
An' we have to get in ahead of number tin—
So, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
'Twas in November in the winter time and the ground all covered wid snow,
"Come put the hand-car-r-r on the track an' over the section go!"
Wid his big soger coat buttoned up to his t'roat, all weathers he would dare—
An' it's "Paddy Mack, will yez walk the track,
An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
"Give my respects to the roadmas-ther," poor Larry he did cry,
"An lave me up that I may see the ould hand-car before I die.
Come, j'int ahead an' cinter back,
An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
Then lay the spike maul upon his chist, the gauge, and the ould claw-bar-r-r,
And while the byes do be fillin' up his grave,
"Oh, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD
Come all you old timers and listen to my song;
I'll make it short as possible and I'll not keep you long;
I'll relate to you about the time you all remember well
When we, with old Joe Garner, drove a beef herd up the trail.
When we left the ranch it was early in the spring,
We had as good a corporal as ever rope did swing,
Good hands and good horses, good outfit through and through,—
We went well equipped, we were a jolly crew.
We had no little herd—two thousand head or more—
And some as wild a brush beeves as you ever saw before.
We swung to them all the way and sometimes by the tail,—
Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.
All things went on well till we reached the open ground,
And then them cattle turned in and they gave us merry hell.
They stampeded every night that came and did it without fail,—
Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.
We would round them up at morning and the boss would make a count,
And say, "Look here, old punchers, we are out quite an amount;
You must make all losses good and do it without fail
Or you will never get another job of driving up the trail."
When we reached Red River we gave the Inspector the dodge.
He swore by God Almighty, in jail old John should lodge.
We told him if he'd taken our boss and had him locked in jail,
We would shore get his scalp as we all came down the trail.
When we reached the Reservation, how squirmish we did feel,
Although we had tried old Garner and knew him true as steel.
And if we would follow him and do as he said do,
That old bald-headed cow-thief would surely take us through.
When we reached Dodge City we drew our four months' pay.
Times was better then, boys, that was a better day.
The way we drank and gambled and threw the girls around,—
"Say, a crowd of Texas cowboys has come to take our town."
The cowboy sees many hardships although he takes them well;
The fun we had upon that trip, no human tongue can tell.
The cowboy's life is a dreary life, though his mind it is no load,
And he always spends his money like he found it in the road.
If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square,
For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there.
But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale,
Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail.