Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее
По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
The prayer of a cattleman to hear,
No doubt the prayers may seem strange,
But I want you to bless our cattle range.
Bless the round-ups year by year,
And don't forget the growing steer;
Water the lands with brooks and rills
For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.
Prairie fires, won't you please stop?
Let thunder roll and water drop.
It frightens me to see the smoke;
Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.
As you, O Lord, my herd behold,
It represents a sack of gold;
I think at least five cents a pound
Will be the price of beef the year around.
One thing more and then I'm through,—
Instead of one calf, give my cows two.
I may pray different from other men
But I've had my say, and now, Amen.
THE MINER'S SONG[4 - Printed as a fugitive ballad in Grandon of Sierra, by Charles E. Winter.]
In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser,
His singlejack was resting on his knee.
His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale,
His ore had left in all his poverty.
He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face,
And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame;
Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken,
But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
"We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
Although it's gone into some other's claim.
My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same.
"For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to make a strike,
I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw.
I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake.
My jack's ate all my books on mining law.
I've worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and 'California socks,'
I've burned candles that would reach from here to Maine,
I've lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that's no lie, boy, I'm not fakin',
But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
"Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream
My assay ran six ounces clear in gold,
And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam,
And the poor old miner's joy could scarce be told.
I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow,
Got up, went back, and put in six holes more.
And then, boy, I was chokin' just to see the ground I'd broken;
But alas! alas! the miner's dream was o'er.
"We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
Although it's gone into some other's claim.
My dear old boy, don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
And I still believe I'll strike it just the same."
JESSE JAMES
Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man;
He robbed the Danville train.
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, they were brave.
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he does feel,
For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,
Then laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He never would see a man suffer pain;
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.
It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank,
And carried the money from the town;
It was in this very place that they had a little race,
For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.
They went to the crossing not very far from there,
And there they did the same;
With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys
To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
They robbed the Glendale train;
The people they did say, for many miles away,
It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
No doubt the prayers may seem strange,
But I want you to bless our cattle range.
Bless the round-ups year by year,
And don't forget the growing steer;
Water the lands with brooks and rills
For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.
Prairie fires, won't you please stop?
Let thunder roll and water drop.
It frightens me to see the smoke;
Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.
As you, O Lord, my herd behold,
It represents a sack of gold;
I think at least five cents a pound
Will be the price of beef the year around.
One thing more and then I'm through,—
Instead of one calf, give my cows two.
I may pray different from other men
But I've had my say, and now, Amen.
THE MINER'S SONG[4 - Printed as a fugitive ballad in Grandon of Sierra, by Charles E. Winter.]
In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser,
His singlejack was resting on his knee.
His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale,
His ore had left in all his poverty.
He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face,
And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame;
Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken,
But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
"We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
Although it's gone into some other's claim.
My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same.
"For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to make a strike,
I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw.
I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake.
My jack's ate all my books on mining law.
I've worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and 'California socks,'
I've burned candles that would reach from here to Maine,
I've lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that's no lie, boy, I'm not fakin',
But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
"Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream
My assay ran six ounces clear in gold,
And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam,
And the poor old miner's joy could scarce be told.
I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow,
Got up, went back, and put in six holes more.
And then, boy, I was chokin' just to see the ground I'd broken;
But alas! alas! the miner's dream was o'er.
"We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
Although it's gone into some other's claim.
My dear old boy, don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
And I still believe I'll strike it just the same."
JESSE JAMES
Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man;
He robbed the Danville train.
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, they were brave.
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he does feel,
For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,
Then laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He never would see a man suffer pain;
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.
It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank,
And carried the money from the town;
It was in this very place that they had a little race,
For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.
They went to the crossing not very far from there,
And there they did the same;
With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys
To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
They robbed the Glendale train;
The people they did say, for many miles away,
It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
Другие электронные книги автора Various
Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее