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Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
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Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
So Polly she's at home
With money at command,
She taken a notion
To view some foreign land.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
She went to the tailor's shop
And dressed herself in man's array,
And was off to an officer
To carry her straight away.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"Good morning," says the officer,
And "Morning," says she,
"Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me
To the wars of Germany."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"Your waist is too slender,
Your fingers are too small,
I am afraid from your countenance
You can't face a cannon ball."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"My waist is not too slender,
My fingers are not too small,
And never would I quiver
To face a cannon ball."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"We don't often 'list an officer
Unless the name we know;"
She answered him in a low, sweet voice,
"You may call me Jack Munro."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
We gathered up our men
And quickly we did sail,
We landed in France
With a sweet and pleasant gale.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
We were walking on the land,
Up and down the line,—
Among the dead and wounded
Her own true love she did find.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
She picked him up all in her arms,
To Tousen town she went;
She soon found a doctor
To dress and heal his wounds,
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
So Jacky, he is married,
And his bride by his side,
In spite of her old parents
And all the world beside.
Sing no longer left alone,
Sing no longer left alone.
FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE
Come all you jolly freighters
That has freighted on the road,
That has hauled a load of freight
From Wilcox to Globe;
We freighted on this road
For sixteen years or more
A-hauling freight for Livermore,—
No wonder that I'm poor.
And it's home, dearest home;
And it's home you ought to be,
Over on the Gila
In the white man's country,
Where the poplar and the ash
And mesquite will ever be
Growing green down on the Gila;
There's a home for you and me.
'Twas in the spring of seventy-three
I started with my team,
Led by false illusion
And those foolish, golden dreams;
The first night out from Wilcox
My best wheel horse was stole,
And it makes me curse a little
Sing I am left alone.
So Polly she's at home
With money at command,
She taken a notion
To view some foreign land.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
She went to the tailor's shop
And dressed herself in man's array,
And was off to an officer
To carry her straight away.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"Good morning," says the officer,
And "Morning," says she,
"Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me
To the wars of Germany."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"Your waist is too slender,
Your fingers are too small,
I am afraid from your countenance
You can't face a cannon ball."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"My waist is not too slender,
My fingers are not too small,
And never would I quiver
To face a cannon ball."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"We don't often 'list an officer
Unless the name we know;"
She answered him in a low, sweet voice,
"You may call me Jack Munro."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
We gathered up our men
And quickly we did sail,
We landed in France
With a sweet and pleasant gale.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
We were walking on the land,
Up and down the line,—
Among the dead and wounded
Her own true love she did find.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
She picked him up all in her arms,
To Tousen town she went;
She soon found a doctor
To dress and heal his wounds,
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
So Jacky, he is married,
And his bride by his side,
In spite of her old parents
And all the world beside.
Sing no longer left alone,
Sing no longer left alone.
FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE
Come all you jolly freighters
That has freighted on the road,
That has hauled a load of freight
From Wilcox to Globe;
We freighted on this road
For sixteen years or more
A-hauling freight for Livermore,—
No wonder that I'm poor.
And it's home, dearest home;
And it's home you ought to be,
Over on the Gila
In the white man's country,
Where the poplar and the ash
And mesquite will ever be
Growing green down on the Gila;
There's a home for you and me.
'Twas in the spring of seventy-three
I started with my team,
Led by false illusion
And those foolish, golden dreams;
The first night out from Wilcox
My best wheel horse was stole,
And it makes me curse a little
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Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее