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Various
Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
THE TEXAS COWBOY
Oh, I am a Texas cowboy,
Far away from home,
If ever I get back to Texas
I never more will roam.
Montana is too cold for me
And the winters are too long;
Before the round-ups do begin
Our money is all gone.
Take this old hen-skin bedding,
Too thin to keep me warm,—
I nearly freeze to death, my boys.
Whenever there's a storm.
And take this old "tarpoleon,"
Too thin to shield my frame,—
I got it down in Nebraska
A-dealin' a Monte game.
Now to win these fancy leggins
I'll have enough to do;
They cost me twenty dollars
The day that they were new.
I have an outfit on the Mussel Shell,
But that I'll never see,
Unless I get sent to represent
The Circle or D.T.
I've worked down in Nebraska
Where the grass grows ten feet high,
And the cattle are such rustlers
That they seldom ever die;
I've worked up in the sand hills
And down upon the Platte,
Where the cowboys are good fellows
And the cattle always fat;
I've traveled lots of country,—
Nebraska's hills of sand,
Down through the Indian Nation,
And up the Rio Grande;—
But the Bad Lands of Montana
Are the worst I ever seen,
The cowboys are all tenderfeet
And the dogies are too lean.
If you want to see some bad lands,
Go over on the Dry;
You will bog down in the coulees
Where the mountains reach the sky.
A tenderfoot to lead you
Who never knows the way,
You are playing in the best of luck
If you eat more than once a day.
Your grub is bread and bacon
And coffee black as ink;
The water is so full of alkali
It is hardly fit to drink.
They will wake you in the morning
Before the break of day,
And send you on a circle
A hundred miles away.
All along the Yellowstone
'Tis cold the year around;
You will surely get consumption
By sleeping on the ground.
Work in Montana
Is six months in the year;
When all your bills are settled
There is nothing left for beer.
Work down in Texas
Is all the year around;
You will never get consumption
By sleeping on the ground.
Come all you Texas cowboys
And warning take from me,
And do not go to Montana
To spend your money free.
But stay at home in Texas
Where work lasts the year around,
And you will never catch consumption
By sleeping on the ground.
THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE
A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
Some say it's free from care;
Rounding up the cattle from morning till night
In the middle of the prairie so bare.
Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar,
"Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!"
Slowly you will rise with sleepy-feeling eyes,
The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
The greener lad he thinks it's play,
He'll soon peter out on a cold rainy day,
With his big bell spurs and his Spanish hoss,
He'll swear to you he was once a boss.
The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
He's driven through the heat and cold;
While the rich man's a-sleeping on his velvet couch,
Dreaming of his silver and gold.
Spring-time sets in, double trouble will begin,
The weather is so fierce and cold;
Clothes are wet and frozen to our necks,
The cattle we can scarcely hold.
The cowboy's life is a dreary one,
He works all day to the setting of the sun;
And then his day's work is not done,
For there's his night herd to go on.
The wolves and owls with their terrifying howls
Will disturb us in our midnight dream,
As we lie on our slickers on a cold, rainy night
Way over on the Pecos stream.
You are speaking of your farms, you are speaking of your charms,
You are speaking of your silver and gold;
But a cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
He's driven through the heat and cold.
Some folks say that we are free from care,
Free from all other harm;
But we round up the cattle from morning till night
Way over on the prairie so dry.
I used to run about, now I stay at home,
Take care of my wife and child;
Nevermore to roam, always stay at home,
Take care of my wife and child.
Half-past four the noisy cook will roar,
"Hurrah, boys! she's breaking day!"
Slowly we will rise and wipe our sleepy eyes,
The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
JIM FARROW
It's Jim Farrow and John Farrow and little Simon, too,
Have plenty of cattle where I have but few.
Marking and branding both night and day,—
It's "Keep still, boys, my boys, and you'll all get your pay."
It's up to the courthouse, the first thing they know,
Before the Grand Jury they'll have to go.
They'll ask you about ear-marks, they'll ask you about brand,
But tell them you were absent when the work was on hand.
Jim Farrow brands J.F. on the side;
The next comes Johnnie who takes the whole hide;
Little Simon, too has H. on the loin;—
All stand for Farrow but it's not good for Sime.
You ask for the mark, I don't think it's fair,
You'll find the cow's head but the ear isn't there
It's a crop and a split and a sort of a twine,—
All stand for F. but it's not good for Sime.
"Get up, my boys," Jim Farrow will say,
"And out to horse hunting before it is day."
So we get up and are out on the way
But it's damn few horses we find before day.
"Now saddle your horses and out on the peaks
To see if the heifers are out on the creeks."
We'll round 'em to-day and we'll round 'em to-morrow,
And this ends my song concerning the Farrows.
YOUNG CHARLOTTIE
Young Charlottie lived by a mountain side in a wild and lonely spot,
There was no village for miles around except her father's cot;
And yet on many a wintry night young boys would gather there,—
Her father kept a social board, and she was very fair.
One New Year's Eve as the sun went down, she cast a wistful eye
Out from the window pane as a merry sleigh went by.
At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night;
Although the air was piercing cold, her heart was merry and light.
At last her laughing eye lit up as a well-known voice she heard,
And dashing in front of the door her lover's sleigh appeared.
"O daughter, dear," her mother said, "this blanket round you fold,
'Tis such a dreadful night abroad and you will catch your death of cold."
"Oh no, oh no!" young Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a gipsy queen,
"To ride in blankets muffled up, I never would be seen.
My silken coat is quite enough, you know it is lined throughout,
And there is my silken scarf to wrap my head and neck about."
Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she jumped into the sleigh,
And swiftly slid down the mountain side and over the hills away.
All muffled up so silent, five miles at last were past
When Charlie with few but shivering words, the silence broke at last.
"Such a dreadful night I never saw, my reins I can scarcely hold."
Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I am exceedingly cold."
He cracked his whip and urged his speed much faster than before,
While at least five other miles in silence had passed o'er.
Spoke Charles, "How fast the freezing ice is gathering on my brow!"
Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I'm growing warmer now."
So on they sped through the frosty air and the glittering cold starlight
Until at last the village lights and the ball-room came in sight.
They reached the door and Charles sprang out and reached his hands to her.
"Why sit you there like a monument that has no power to stir?"
He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word,
And then he called her once again but still she never stirred.
He took her hand in his; 'twas cold and hard as any stone.
He tore the mantle from her face while cold stars on it shone.
Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore;—
Young Charlottie's eyes were closed forever, her voice was heard no more.
And there he sat down by her side while bitter tears did flow,
And cried, "My own, my charming bride, you nevermore shall know."
He twined his arms around her neck and kissed her marble brow,
And his thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now."
He took her back into the sleigh and quickly hurried home;
When he arrived at her father's door, oh, how her friends did mourn;
They mourned the loss of a daughter dear, while Charles wept over the gloom,
Till at last he died with the bitter grief,—now they both lie in one tomb.
THE SKEW-BALL BLACK
It was down to Red River I came,
Prepared to play a damned tough game,—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
I crossed the river to the ranch where I intended to work,
With a big six-shooter and a derned good dirk,—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
They roped me out a skew-ball black
With a double set-fast on his back,—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
And when I was mounted on his back,
The boys all yelled, "Just give him slack,"—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
They rolled and tumbled and yelled, by God,
For he threw me a-whirling all over the sod,—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
I went to the boss and I told him I'd resign,
The fool tumbled over, and I thought he was dyin',—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
And it's to Arkansaw I'll go back,
To hell with Texas and the skew-ball black,—
Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
THE RAMBLING COWBOY
There was a rich old rancher who lived in the country by,
He had a lovely daughter on whom I cast my eye;
She was pretty, tall, and handsome, both neat and very fair,
There's no other girl in the country with her I could compare.
I asked her if she would be willing for me to cross the plains;
She said she would be truthful until I returned again;
She said she would be faithful until death did prove unkind,
So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, and I left my girl behind.
I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound;
I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round.
Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind
But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind.
One day as I was riding across the public square
The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there;
He handed me a letter which gave me to understand
That the girl I left in Texas had married another man.
I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do,
But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true.
Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed.
I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind.
Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song,
If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong;
But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can,
For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man.
THE COWBOY AT CHURCH
Some time ago,—two weeks or more
If I remember well,—
I found myself in town and thought
I'd knock around a spell,
When all at once I heard the bell,—
I didn't know 'twas Sunday,—
For on the plains we scarcely know
A Sunday from a Monday,—
A-calling all the people
From the highways and the hedges
And all the reckless throng
That tread ruin's ragged edges,
To come and hear the pastor tell
Salvation's touching story,
And how the new road misses hell
And leads you straight to glory.
I started by the chapel door,
But something urged me in,
And told me not to spend God's day
In revelry and sin.
I don't go much on sentiment,
But tears came in my eyes.
It seemed just like my mother's voice
Was speaking from the skies.
I thought how often she had gone
With little Sis and me
To church, when I was but a lad
Way back in Tennessee.
It never once occurred to me
About not being dressed
In Sunday rig, but carelessly
I went in with the rest.
You should have seen the smiles and shrugs
As I went walking in,
As though they thought my leggins
Worse than any kind of sin;
Although the honest parson,
In his vestry garb arrayed
Was dressed the same as I was,—
In the trappings of his trade.
The good man prayed for all the world
And all its motley crew,
For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk,
And unbelieving Jew,—
Though the congregation doubtless thought
That the cowboys as a race
Were a kind of moral outlaw
With no good claim to grace.
Is it very strange that cowboys are
A rough and reckless crew
When their garb forbids their doing right
As Christian people do?
That they frequent scenes of revelry
Where death is bought and sold,
Where at least they get a welcome
Though it's prompted by their gold?
Stranger, did it ever strike you,
When the winter days are gone
And the mortal grass is springing up
To meet the judgment sun,
And we 'tend mighty round-ups
Where, according to the Word,
The angel cowboy of the Lord
Will cut the human herd,—
That a heap of stock that's lowing now
Around the Master's pen
And feeding at his fodder stack
Will have the brand picked then?
And brands that when the hair was long
Looked like the letter C,
Will prove to be the devil's,
And the brand the letter D;
While many a long-horned coaster,—
I mean, just so to speak,—
That hasn't had the advantage
Of the range and gospel creek
Will get to crop the grasses
In the pasture of the Lord
If the letter C showed up
Beneath the devil's checker board.
THE U. S. A. RECRUIT
Now list to my song, it will not take me long,
And in some things with me you'll agree;
A young man so green came in from Moline,
And enlisted a soldier to be.
He had lots of pluck, on himself he was stuck,
In his Government straights he looked "boss,"
And he chewed enough beans for a hoss.
He was a rookey, so flukey,
He was a jim dandy you all will agree,
He said without fear, "Before I'm a year
In the Army, great changes you'll see."
He was a stone thrower, a foam blower,
He was a Loo Loo you bet,
He stood on his head and these words gently said,
"I'll be second George Washington yet."
At his post he did land, they took him in hand,
The old bucks they all gathered 'round,
Saying "Give us your fist; where did you enlist?
You'll take on again I'll be bound;
I've a blanket to sell, it will fit you quite well,
I'll sell you the whole or a piece.
I've a dress coat to trade, or a helmet unmade,
It will do you for kitchen police."
Then the top said, "My Son, here is a gun,
Just heel ball that musket up bright.
In a few days or more you'll be rolling in gore,
A-chasing wild Goo Goos to flight.
There'll be fighting, you see, and blood flowing free,
We'll send you right on to the front;
And never you fear, if you're wounded, my dear,
You'll be pensioned eight dollars per month."
He was worried so bad, he blew in all he had;
He went on a drunk with goodwill.
And the top did report, "One private short."
When he showed up he went to the mill.
The proceedings we find were a ten dollar blind,
Ten dollars less to blow foam.
This was long years ago, and this rookey you know
Is now in the old soldiers' home.
THE COWGIRL
My love is a rider and broncos he breaks,
But he's given up riding and all for my sake;
For he found him a horse and it suited him so
He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco.
My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,
But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;
And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,
And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.
My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,
Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;
For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,
And it wobbles about like a bucking bronco.
The cook is an unfortunate son of a gun;
He has to be up e'er the rise of the sun;
His language is awful, his curses are deep,—
He is like cascarets, for he works while you sleep.
THE SHANTY BOY
I am a jolly shanty boy,
As you will soon discover.
To all the dodges I am fly,
A hustling pine woods rover.
A peavy hook it is my pride,
An ax I well can handle;
To fell a tree or punch a bull
Get rattling Danny Randall.
Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
I love a girl in Saginaw;
She lives with her mother;
I defy all Michigan
To find such another.
She's tall and fat, her hair is red,
Her face is plump and pretty,
She's my daisy, Sunday-best-day girl,—
And her front name stands for Kitty.
Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
I took her to a dance one night,
A mossback gave the bidding;
Silver Jack bossed the shebang
And Big Dan played the fiddle.
We danced and drank, the livelong night.
With fights between the dancing—
Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch
And sent the mossbacks prancing.
Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
ROOT HOG OR DIE
When I was a young man I lived on the square,
I never had any pocket change and I hardly thought it fair;
So out on the crosses I went to rob and to steal,
And when I met a peddler oh, how happy I did feel.
One morning, one morning, one morning in May
I seen a man a-coming, a little bit far away;
I seen a man a-coming, come riding up to me
"Come here, come here, young fellow, I'm after you to-day."
He taken me to the new jail, he taken me to the new jail,
And I had to walk right in.
There all my friends went back on me
And also my kin.
I had an old rich uncle, who lived in the West,
He heard of my misfortune, it wouldn't let him rest;
He came to see me, he paid my bills and score,—
I have been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
There's Minnie and Alice and Lucy likewise,
They heard of my misfortune brought tears to their eyes.
I've told 'em my condition, I've told it o'er and o'er;
So I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
I will go to East Texas to marry me a wife,
And try to maintain her the balance of my life;
I'll try to maintain; I'll lay it up in store
I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
Young man, you robber, you had better take it fair,
Leave off your marshal killing and live on the square;
Should you meet the marshal, just pass him by;
And travel on the muscular, for it's root hog or die.
When I drew my money I drew it all in cash
And off to see my Susan, you bet I cut a dash;
I spent my money freely and went it on a bum,
And I love the pretty women and am bound to have my fun.
I used to sport a white hat, a horse and buggy fine,
Courted a pretty girl and always called her mine;
But all my courtships proved to be in vain,
For they sent me down to Huntsville to wear the ball and chain.
Along came my true love, about twelve o'clock,
Saying, "Henry, O Henry, what sentence have you got?"
The jury found me guilty, the judge would allow no stay,
So they sent me down to Huntsville to wear my life away.
SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE
"A California Immigrant Song of the Fifties"
Oh, don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike
Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike,
And two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog,
A tall, shanghai rooster, and one spotted dog?
Saying, good-bye, Pike County,
Farewell for a while;
We'll come back again
When we've panned out our pile.
One evening quite early they camped on the Platte,
'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat;
Where Betsy, quite tired, lay down to repose,
While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County rose.
They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out,
And down in the sand she lay rolling about;
While Ike in great terror looked on in surprise,
Saying "Betsy, get up, you'll get sand in your eyes."
Saying, good-bye, Pike County,
Farewell for a while;
I'd go back to-night
If it was but a mile.
Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain
And declared she'd go back to Pike County again;
Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced,
And she traveled along with his arm around her waist.
The wagon tipped over with a terrible crash,
And out on the prairie rolled all sorts of trash;
A few little baby clothes done up with care
Looked rather suspicious,—though 'twas all on the square.
The shanghai ran off and the cattle all died,
The last piece of bacon that morning was fried;
Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad,
The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad.
One morning they climbed up a very high hill,
And with wonder looked down into old Placerville;
Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down,
"Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown."
Long Ike and sweet Betsy attended a dance,
Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants;
Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings.
Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?"
A miner said, "Betsy, will you dance with me?"
"I will that, old hoss, if you don't make too free;
But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why?
Dog on ye, I'm chock full of strong alkali."
Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married of course,
But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce;
And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,
"Good-bye, you big lummax, I'm glad you backed out."
Saying, good-bye, dear Isaac,
Farewell for a while,
But come back in time
To replenish my pile.
THE DISHEARTENED RANGER
Come listen to a ranger, you kind-hearted stranger,
This song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear;
We've kept the Comanches away from your ranches,
And followed them far o'er the Texas frontier.
We're weary of scouting, of traveling, and routing
The blood-thirsty villains o'er prairie and wood;
No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner,
But he lies in a supperless bed in the mud.
No corn nor potatoes, no bread nor tomatoes,
But jerked beef as dry as the sole of your shoe;
All day without drinking, all night without winking,
I'll tell you, kind stranger, this never will do.
Those great alligators, the State legislators,
Are puffing and blowing two-thirds of their time,
But windy orations about rangers and rations
Never put in our pockets one-tenth of a dime.
They do not regard us, they will not reward us,
Though hungry and haggard with holes in our coats;
But the election is coming and they will be drumming
And praising our valor to purchase our votes.
For glory and payment, for vittles and raiment,
No longer we'll fight on the Texas frontier.
So guard your own ranches, and mind the Comanches
Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year.
Though sore it may grieve you, the rangers must leave you
Exposed to the arrows and knife of the foe;
So herd your own cattle and fight your own battle,
For home to the States I'm determined to go,—
Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal,
Where houses have people and ladies are kind;
Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded;
Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets are lined.
Your wives and your daughters we have guarded from slaughter,
Through conflicts and struggles I shudder to tell;
No more well defend them, to God we'll commend them.
To the frontier of Texas we bid a farewell.