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[Footnote 12: rim-fire saddle, without flank girth.]
WILD ROVERS
Come all you wild rovers And listen to me While I retail to you My sad history.
I'm a man of experience Your favors to gain, Oh, love has been the ruin Of many a poor man.
When you are single And living at your ease You can roam this world over And do as you please; You can roam this world over And go where you will And slyly kiss a pretty girl And be your own still.
But when you are married And living with your wife, You've lost all the joys And comforts of life.
Your wife she will scold you, Your children will cry, And that will make papa Look withered and dry.
You can't step aside, boys, To speak to a friend Without your wife at your elbow Saying, "What does this mean?"
Your wife, she will scold And there is sad news.
Dear boys, take warning; 'Tis a life to refuse.
If you chance to be riding Along the highway And meet a fair maiden, A lady so gay, With red, rosy cheeks And sparkling blue eyes,-- Oh, heavens! what a tumult In your bosom will rise!
One more request, boys, Before we must part: Don't place your affections On a charming sweetheart; She'll dance before you Your favors to gain.
Oh, turn your back on them With scorn and disdain!
Come close to the bar, boys, We'll drink all around.
We'll drink to the pure, If any be found; We'll drink to the single, For I wish them success; Likewise to the married, For I wish them no less.
LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK
'Tis life in a half-breed shack, The rain comes pouring down; "Drip" drops the mud through the roof, And the wind comes through the wall.
A tenderfoot cursed his luck And feebly cried out "yah!"
Refrain: Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!
Yah! Yah! this bloomin' country's a fraud!
Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!
He tries to kindle a fire When it's forty-five below; He aims to chop at a log And amputates his toe; He hobbles back to the shack And feebly cries out "yah"!
He gets on a bucking cayuse And thinks to flourish around, But the buzzard-head takes to bucking And lays him flat out on the ground.
As he picks himself up with a curse, He feebly cries out "yah"!
He buys all the town lots he can get In the wrong end of Calgary, And he waits and he waits for the boom Until he's dead broke like me.
He couldn't get any tick So he feebly cries out "yah"!
He couldn't do any work And he wouldn't know how if he could; So the police run him for a vag And set him to bucking wood.
As he sits in the guard room cell, He feebly cries out "yah"!
Come all ye tenderfeet And listen to what I say, If you can't get a government job You had better remain where you be.
Then you won't curse your luck And cry out feebly "yah"!
THE ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK
If you'll listen a while I'll sing you a song, And as it is short it won't take me long.
There are some things of which I will speak Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
It was in the morning at eight-forty-five, I was hooking up all ready to drive Out where the miners for minerals seek, With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
With my two little mules I jog along And try to cheer them with ditty and song; O'er the wide prairie where coyotes sneak, While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
Sometimes I have to haul heavy freight, Then it is I get home very late.
In rain or s.h.i.+ne, six days in the week, 'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- 'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
And when with the driving of stage I am through I will to my two little mules bid adieu.
And hope that those creatures, so gentle and meek, Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.
On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.
Now all kind friends that travel about, Come take a trip on the Wallis stage route.
With a plenty of grit, they never get weak,-- Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE
'Twas a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Araphoe, And the whiskey was a running with a soft and gentle flow, The music was a-ringing in a dance hall cross the way, And the dancers was a-swinging just as close as they could lay.
People gathered round the tables, a-betting with their wealth, And near by stood a stranger who had come there for his health.
He was a peaceful little stranger though he seemed to be unstrung; For just before he'd left his home he'd separated with one lung.
Nearby at a table sat a man named Hankey Dean, A tougher man says Hankey, buckskin chaps had never seen.
But Hankey was a gambler and he was plum sure to lose; For he had just departed with a sun-dried stack of blues.
He rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung, And cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung.
"No wonder I've been losing every bet I made tonight When a sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light.
Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?"
