Cowboy Songs Part 28

With her nose turned upon you it will look like sad news,-- I advise you by experience that life to refuse.

Come fill up your bottles, boys, drink Bourbon around; Here is luck to the single wherever they are found.

Here is luck to the single and I wish them success, Likewise to the married ones, I wish them no less.

I have one more request to make, boys, before we part.

Never place your affection on a charming sweetheart.

She is dancing before you your affections to gain; Just turn your back on them with scorn and disdain.

HER WHITE BOSOM BARE

The sun had gone down O'er the hills of the west, And the last beams had faded O'er the mossy hill's crest, O'er the beauties of nature And the charms of the fair, And Amanda was bound With her white bosom bare.

At the foot of the mountain Amanda did sigh At the hoot of an owl Or the catamount's cry; Or the howl of some wolf In its low, granite cell, Or the crash of some large Forest tree as it fell.

Amanda was there All friendless and forlorn With her face bathed in blood And her garments all torn.

The sunlight had faded O'er the hills of the green, And fierce was the look Of the wild, savage scene.

For it was out in the forest Where the wild game springs, Where low in the branches The rude hammock swings; The campfire was kindled, Well fanned by the breeze, And the light of the campfire Shone round on the trees.

The campfire was kindled, Well fanned by the breeze, And the light of the fire Shone round on the trees; And grim stood the circle Of the warrior throng, Impatient to join In the war-dance and song.

The campfire was kindled, Each warrior was there, And Amanda was bound With her white bosom bare.

She counted the vengeance In the face of her foes And sighed for the moment When her sufferings might close.

Young Albon, he gazed On the face of the fair While her dark hazel eyes Were uplifted in prayer; And her dark waving tresses In ringlets did flow Which hid from the gazer A bosom of snow.

Then young Albon, the chief Of the warriors, drew near, With an eye like an eagle And a step like a deer.

"Forbear," cried he, "Your torture forbear; This maiden shall live.

By my wampum I swear.

"It is for this maiden's freedom That I do crave; Give a sigh for her suffering Or a tear for her grave.

If there is a victim To be burned at that tree, Young Albon, your leader, That victim shall be."

Then quick to the arms Of Amanda he rushed; The rebel was dead, And the tumult was hushed; And grim stood the circle Of warriors around While the cords of Amanda Young Albon unbound.

So it was early next morning The red, white, and blue Went gliding o'er the waters In a small birch canoe; Just like the white swan That glides o'er the tide, Young Albon and Amanda O'er the waters did ride.

O'er the blue, bubbling water, Neath the evergreen trees, Young Albon and Amanda Did ride at their ease; And great was the joy When she stepped on the sh.o.r.e To embrace her dear father And mother once more.

Young Albon, he stood And enjoyed their embrace, With a sigh in his heart And a tear on his face; And all that he asked Was kindness and food From the parents of Amanda To the chief of the woods.

Young Amanda is home now, As you all know, Enjoying the friends Of her own native sh.o.r.e; Nevermore will she roam O'er the hills or the plains; She praises the chief That loosened her chains.

JUAN MURRAY

My name is Juan Murray, and hard for my fate, I was born and raised in Texas, that good old lone star state.

I have been to many a round-up, boys, have worked on the trail, Have stood many a long old guard through the rain, yes, sleet, and hail; I have rode the Texas broncos that pitched from morning till noon, And have seen many a storm, boys, between sunrise, yes, and noon.

I am a jolly cowboy and have roamed all over the West, And among the bronco riders I rank among the best.

But when I left old Midland, with voice right then I spoke,-- "I never will see you again until the day I croak."

But since I left old Texas so many sights I have saw A-traveling from my native state way out to Mexico,-- I am looking all around me and cannot help but smile To see my nearest neighbors all in the Mexican style.

I left my home in Texas to dodge the ball and chain.

In the State of Sonora I will forever remain.

Farewell to my mother, my friends that are so dear, I would like to see you all again, my lonesome heart to cheer.

I have a word to speak, boys, only another to say,-- Don't never be a cow-thief, don't never ride a stray; Be careful of your line, boys, and keep it on your tree,-- Just suit yourself about it, for it is nothing to me.

But if you start to rustling you will come to some sad fate, You will have to go to prison and work for the state.

Don't think that I am lying and trying to tell a joke, For the writer has experienced just every word he's spoke.

It is better to be honest and let other's stock alone Than to leave your native country and seek a Mexican home.

For if you start to rustling you will surely come to see The State of Sonora,--be an outcast just like me.

GREER COUNTY

Tom Hight is my name, an old bachelor I am, You'll find me out West in the country of fame, You'll find me out West on an elegant plain, And starving to death on my government claim.

Hurrah for Greer County!

The land of the free, The land of the bed-bug, Gra.s.s-hopper and flea; I'll sing of its praises And tell of its fame, While starving to death On my government claim.

My house is built of natural sod, Its walls are erected according to hod; Its roof has no pitch but is level and plain, I always get wet if it happens to rain.

How happy am I on my government claim, I've nothing to lose, and nothing to gain; I've nothing to eat, I've nothing to wear,-- From nothing to nothing is the hardest fare.

How happy am I when I crawl into bed,-- A rattlesnake hisses a tune at my head, A gay little centipede, all without fear, Crawls over my pillow and into my ear.

Now all you claim holders, I hope you will stay And chew your hard tack till you're toothless and gray; But for myself, I'll no longer remain To starve like a dog on my government claim.

My clothes are all ragged as my language is rough, My bread is corn dodgers, both solid and tough; But yet I am happy, and live at my ease On sorghum mola.s.ses, bacon, and cheese.

Good-bye to Greer County where blizzards arise, Where the sun never sinks and a flea never dies, And the wind never ceases but always remains Till it starves us all out on our government claims.

Farewell to Greer County, farewell to the West, I'll travel back East to the girl I love best, I'll travel back to Texas and marry me a wife, And quit corn bread for the rest of my life.