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Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
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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 beCold 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 hearIs, "Madam, your father has killed a deer";And the next thing they say when they sit downIs, "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 hillAnd 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 crownAnd 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 wellWhen 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 failOr 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.THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
Come all of you, my brother scouts,And join me in my song;Come, let us sing togetherThough the shadows fall so long.Of all the old frontiersmenThat used to scour the plain,There are but very few of themThat with us yet remain.Day after day they're dropping off,They're going one by one;Our clan is fast decreasing,Our race is almost run.There were many of our numberThat never wore the blue,But, faithfully, they did their part,As brave men, tried and true.They never joined the army,But had other work to doIn piloting the coming folks,To help them safely through.But, brothers, we are falling,Our race is almost run;The days of elk and buffaloAnd beaver traps are gone.Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!It fills my heart with painTo know these days are past and goneTo never come again.We fought the red-skin rascalsOver valley, hill, and plain;We fought him in the mountain top,And fought him down again.These fighting days are over;The Indian yell resoundsNo more along the border;Peace sends far sweeter sounds.But we found great joy, old comrades,To hear, and make it die;We won bright homes for gentle ones,And now, our West, good-bye.THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER
It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,And when in good society they seldom misbehave.When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;About the first of August they start up the trail,They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls of fire.It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does standTo tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK
Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer,I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer;It's all about a trip, a trip that I did undergoOn that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.It's on the seventeenth of February, our herd it started out,It would have made your hearts shudder to hear them bawl and shout,As wild as any buffalo that ever rode the Platte,Those dogies we were driving, and every one was fat.We crossed the Mescal Mountains on the way to Gilson Flats,And when we got to Gilson Flats, Lord, how the wind did blow;It blew so hard, it blew so fierce, we knew not where to go,But our spirits never failed us as onward we did go,—On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.That night we had a stampede; Christ, how the cattle run!We made it to our horses; I tell you, we had no fun;Over the prickly pear and catclaw brush we quickly made our way;We thought of our long journey and the girls we'd left one day.It's long by Sombserva we slowly punched along,While each and every puncher would sing a hearty songTo cheer up his comrade as onward we did go,On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.We crossed the Mongollen Mountains where the tall pines do grow,Grass grows in abundance, and rippling streams do flow;Our packs were always turning, of course our gait was slow,On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.At last we got to Holbrook, a little gale did blow;It blew up sand and pebble stones and it didn't blow them slow.We had to drink the water from that muddy little streamAnd swallowed a peck of dirt when we tried to eat a bean.But the cattle now are shipped and homeward we are boundWith a lot of as tired horses as ever could be found;Across the reservation no danger did we fear,But thought of wives and sweethearts and the ones we love so dear.Now we are back in Globe City, our friendship there to share;Here's luck to every puncher that follows the bronco steer.ONLY A COWBOY
Away out in old Texas, that great lone star state,Where the mocking bird whistles both early and late;It was in Western Texas on the old N A rangeThe boy fell a victim on the old staked plains.He was only a cowboy gone on before,He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;He was doing his duty on the old N A rangeBut now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.His crew they were numbered twenty-seven or eight,The boys were like brothers, their friendship was great,When "O God, have mercy" was heard from behind,—The cattle were left to drift on the line.He leaves a dear wife and little ones, too,To earn them a living, as fathers oft do;For while he was working for the loved ones so dearHe was took without warning or one word of cheer.And while he is sleeping where the sun always shines,The boys they go dashing along on the line;The look on their faces it speaks to us allOf one who departed to the home of the soul.He was only a cowboy gone on before,He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;He was doing his duty on the old N A rangeBut now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.FULLER AND WARREN
Ye sons of Columbia, your attention I do crave,While a sorrowful story I do tell,Which happened of late, in the Indiana state,And a hero not many could excel;Like Samson he courted, made choice of the fair,And intended to make her his wife;But she, like Delilah, his heart did ensnare,Which cost him his honor and his life.A gold ring he gave her in token of his love,On the face was the image of the dove;They mutually agreed to get married with speedAnd were promised by the powers above.But the fickle-minded maiden vowed again to wedTo young Warren who lived in that place;It was a fatal blow that caused his overthrowAnd added to her shame and disgrace.When Fuller came to hear he was deprived of his dearWhom he vowed by the powers to wed,With his heart full of woe unto Warren he did go,And smilingly unto him he said:"Young man, you have injured me to gratify your causeBy reporting that I left a prudent wife;Acknowledge now that you have wronged me, for although I break the laws,Young Warren, I'll deprive you of your life."Then Warren, he replied: "Your request must be denied,For your darling to my heart she is bound;And further I can say that this is our wedding day,In spite of all the heroes in town."Then Fuller in the passion of his love and anger bound,—Alas! it caused many to cry,—At one fatal shot killed Warren on the spot,And smilingly said, "I'm ready now to die."The time was drawing nigh when Fuller had to die;He bid the audience adieu.Like an angel he did stand, for he was a handsome man,On his breast he had a ribbon of blue.Ten thousand spectators did smite him on the breast,And the guards dropped a tear from the eye,Saying, "Cursed be she who caused this misery,Would to God in his stead she had to die."The gentle god of Love looked with anger from aboveAnd the rope flew asunder like the sand.Two doctors for the pay they murdered him, they say,They hung him by main strength of hand.But the corpse it was buried and the doctors lost their prey,Oh, that harlot was bribed, I do believe;Bad women to a certainty are the downfall of men,As Adam was beguiled by Eve.
THE TRAIL TO MEXICO
I made up my mind to change my wayAnd quit my crowd that was so gay,To leave my native home for a whileAnd to travel west for many a mile.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.'Twas all in the merry month of MayWhen I started for Texas far away,I left my darling girl behind,—She said her heart was only mine.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.Oh, it was when I embraced her in my armsI thought she had ten thousand charms;Her caresses were soft, her kisses were sweet,Saying, "We will get married next time we meet."Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.It was in the year of eighty-threeThat A.J. Stinson hired me.He says, "Young fellow, I want you to goAnd drive this herd to Mexico."Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.The first horse they gave me was an old blackWith two big set-fasts on his back;I padded him with gunny-sacks and my bedding all;He went up, then down, and I got a fall.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.The next they gave me was an old gray,I'll remember him till my dying day.And if I had to swear to the fact,I believe he was worse off than the black.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.Oh, it was early in the yearWhen I went on trail to drive the steer.I stood my guard through sleet and snowWhile on the trail to Mexico.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.Oh, it was a long and lonesome goAs our herd rolled on to Mexico;With laughter light and the cowboy's songTo Mexico we rolled along.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.When I arrived in MexicoI wanted to see my love but could not go;So I wrote a letter, a letter to my dear,But not a word from her could I hear.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.When I arrived at the once loved homeI called for the darling of my own;They said she had married a richer life,Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.Oh, the girl she is married I do adore,And I cannot stay at home any more;I'll cut my way to a foreign landOr I'll go back west to my cowboy band.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.I'll go back to the Western land,I'll hunt up my old cowboy band,—Where the girls are few and the boys are trueAnd a false-hearted love I never knew.Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo."O Buddie, O Buddie, please stay at home,Don't be forever on the roam.There is many a girl more true than I,So pray don't go where the bullets fly."Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo."It's curse your gold and your silver too,God pity a girl that won't prove true;I'll travel West where the bullets fly,I'll stay on the trail till the day I die."Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.THE HORSE WRANGLER
I thought one spring just for funI'd see how cow-punching was done,And when the round-ups had begunI tackled the cattle-king.Says he, "My foreman is in town,He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown,If you'll see him, he'll take you down."Says I, "That's just the thing."We started for the ranch next day;Brown augured me most all the way.He said that cow-punching was nothing but play,That it was no work at all,—That all you had to do was ride,And only drifting with the tide;The son of a gun, oh, how he lied.Don't you think he had his gall?He put me in charge of a cavyard,And told me not to work too hard,That all I had to do was guardThe horses from getting away;I had one hundred and sixty head,I sometimes wished that I was dead;When one got away, Brown's head turned red,And there was the devil to pay.Sometimes one would make a break,Across the prairie he would take,As if running for a stake,—It seemed to them but play;Sometimes I could not head them at all,Sometimes my horse would catch a fallAnd I'd shoot on like a cannon ballTill the earth came in my way.They saddled me up an old gray hackWith two set-fasts on his back,They padded him down with a gunny sackAnd used my bedding all.When I got on he quit the ground,Went up in the air and turned around,And I came down and busted the ground,—I got one hell of a fall.They took me up and carried me inAnd rubbed me down with an old stake pin."That's the way they all begin;You're doing well," says Brown."And in the morning, if you don't die,I'll give you another horse to try.""Oh say, can't I walk?" says I.Says he, "Yes, back to town."I've traveled up and I've traveled down,I've traveled this country round and round,I've lived in city and I've lived in town,But I've got this much to say:Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife,Take a heavy insurance on your life,Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,—For it's easier done that way.CALIFORNIA JOE
Well, mates, I don't like stories;Or am I going to actA part around the campfireThat ain't a truthful fact?So fill your pipes and listen,I'll tell you—let me see—I think it was in fifty,From that till sixty-three.You've all heard tell of Bridger;I used to run with Jim,And many a hard day's scoutingI've done longside of him.Well, once near old Fort Reno,A trapper used to dwell;We called him old Pap Reynolds,The scouts all knew him well.One night in the spring of fiftyWe camped on Powder River,And killed a calf of buffaloAnd cooked a slice of liver.While eating, quite contented,I heard three shots or four;Put out the fire and listened,—We heard a dozen more.We knew that old man ReynoldsHad moved his traps up here;So picking up our riflesAnd fixing on our gearWe moved as quick as lightning,To save was our desire.Too late, the painted heathensHad set the house on fire.We hitched our horses quicklyAnd waded up the stream;While down close beside the watersI heard a muffled scream.And there among the bushesA little girl did lie.I picked her up and whispered,"I'll save you or I'll die."Lord, what a ride! Old BridgerHad covered my retreat;Sometimes that child would whisperIn voice low and sweet,"Poor Papa, God will take himTo Mama up above;There is no one left to love me,There is no one left to love."The little one was thirteenAnd I was twenty-two;I says, "I'll be your fatherAnd love you just as true."She nestled to my bosom,Her hazel eyes so bright,Looked up and made me happy,—The close pursuit that night.One month had passed and Maggie,We called her Hazel Eye,In truth was going to leave me,Was going to say good-bye.Her uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds,Reported long since dead,Had come to claim my angel,His brother's child, he said.What could I say? We parted,Mad Jack was growing old;I handed him a bank noteAnd all I had in gold.They rode away at sunrise,I went a mile or two,And parting says, "We will meet again;May God watch over you."By a laughing, dancing brookA little cabin stood,And weary with a long day's scout,I spied it in the wood.The pretty valley stretched beyond,The mountains towered above,And near its willow banks I heardThe cooing of a dove.'Twas one grand pleasure;The brook was plainly seen,Like a long thread of silverIn a cloth of lovely green;The laughter of the water,The cooing of the dove,Was like some painted picture,Some well-told tale of love.While drinking in the countryAnd resting in the saddle,I heard a gentle ripplingLike the dipping of a paddle,And turning to the water,A strange sight met my view,—A lady with her rifleIn a little bark canoe.She stood up in the center,With her rifle to her eye;I thought just for a secondMy time had come to die.I doffed my hat and told her,If it was just the same,To drop her little shooter,For I was not her game.She dropped the deadly weaponAnd leaped from the canoe.Says she, "I beg your pardon;I thought you was a Sioux.Your long hair and your buckskinLooked warrior-like and rough;My bead was spoiled by sunshine,Or I'd have killed you sure enough.""Perhaps it would've been betterIf you'd dropped me then," says I;"For surely such an angelWould bear me to the sky."She blushingly dropped her eyelids,Her cheeks were crimson red;One half-shy glance she gave meAnd then hung down her head.I took her little hand in mine;She wondered what it meant,And yet she drew it not away,But rather seemed content.We sat upon the mossy bank,Her eyes began to fill;The brook was rippling at our feet,The dove was cooing still.'Tis strong arms were thrown around her."I'll save you or I'll die."I clasped her to my bosom,My long lost Hazel Eye.The rapture of that momentWas almost heaven to me;I kissed her 'mid the tear-drops,Her merriment and glee.Her heart near mine was beatingWhen sobbingly she said,"My dear, my brave preserver,They told me you were dead.But oh, those parting words, Joe,Have never left my mind,You said, 'We'll meet again, Mag,'Then rode off like the wind."And oh, how I have prayed, Joe,For you who saved my life,That God would send an angelTo guide you through all strife.The one who claimed me from you,My Uncle, good and true,Is sick in yonder cabin;Has talked so much of you."'If Joe were living darling,'He said to me last night,'He would care for you, Maggie,When God puts out my light.'"We found the old man sleeping."Hush, Maggie, let him rest."The sun was slowly settingIn the far-off, glowing West.And though we talked in whispersHe opened wide his eyes:"A dream, a dream," he murmured;"Alas, a dream of lies."She drifted like a shadowTo where the old man lay."You had a dream, dear Uncle,Another dream to-day?""Oh yes, I saw an angelAs pure as mountain snow,And near her at my bedsideStood California Joe.""I'm sure I'm not an angel,Dear Uncle, that you know;These hands that hold your hand, too,My face is not like snow."Now listen while I tell you,For I have news to cheer;Hazel Eye is happy,For Joe is truly here."It was but a few days afterThe old man said to me,"Joe, boy, she is an angel,And good as angels be."For three long months she hunted,And trapped and nursed me too;God bless you, boy, I believe it,She's safe along with you."The sun was slowly sinking,When Maggie, my wife, and IWent riding through the valley,The tear-drops in her eye."One year ago to-day, Joe,I saw the mossy grave;We laid him neath the daisies,My Uncle, good and brave."And comrade, every springtimeIs sure to find me there;There is something in the valleyThat is always fresh and fair.Our love is always kindledWhile sitting by the stream,Where two hearts were unitedIn love's sweet happy dream.
