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Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
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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.
THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY
Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me,
I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free;
He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down
His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the ground.
They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least;
But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in peace.
But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land,
For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man.
You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry,
And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny;
He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,—
Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke.
You can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks,
And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent;
But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent.
They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one.
They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done.
They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;
They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,
You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.
Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,
Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;
But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before,
For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four.
BOB STANFORD
Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy,
He lives down on the flat;
His trade is running a well-drill,
But he's none the worse for that.
He is neither rich nor handsome,
But, unlike the city dude,
His manners they are pleasant
Instead of flip and rude.
His people live in Texas,
That is his native home,
But like many other Western lads
He drifted off from home.
He came out to New Mexico
A fortune for to make,
He punched the bottom out of the earth
And never made a stake.
So he came to Arizona
And again set up his drill
To punch a hole for water,
And he's punching at it still.
He says he is determined
To make the business stick
Or spend that derned old well machine
And all he can get on tick.
I hope he is successful
And I'll help him if I can,
For I admire pluck and ambition
In an honest working man.
So keep on going down,
Punch the bottom out, or try,
There is nothing in a hole in the ground
That continues being dry.
CHARLIE RUTLAGE
Another good cow-puncher has gone to meet his fate,
I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden gate.
Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T,
'Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he.
The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave,
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.
THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY
Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me,
I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free;
He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down
His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the ground.
They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least;
But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in peace.
But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land,
For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man.
You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry,
And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny;
He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,—
Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke.
You can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks,
And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent;
But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent.
They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one.
They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done.
They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;
They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,
You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.
Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,
Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;
But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before,
For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four.
BOB STANFORD
Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy,
He lives down on the flat;
His trade is running a well-drill,
But he's none the worse for that.
He is neither rich nor handsome,
But, unlike the city dude,
His manners they are pleasant
Instead of flip and rude.
His people live in Texas,
That is his native home,
But like many other Western lads
He drifted off from home.
He came out to New Mexico
A fortune for to make,
He punched the bottom out of the earth
And never made a stake.
So he came to Arizona
And again set up his drill
To punch a hole for water,
And he's punching at it still.
He says he is determined
To make the business stick
Or spend that derned old well machine
And all he can get on tick.
I hope he is successful
And I'll help him if I can,
For I admire pluck and ambition
In an honest working man.
So keep on going down,
Punch the bottom out, or try,
There is nothing in a hole in the ground
That continues being dry.
CHARLIE RUTLAGE
Another good cow-puncher has gone to meet his fate,
I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden gate.
Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T,
'Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he.
The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave,
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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