The Streets of Laredo

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As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.

As I walked out on Laredo one day,

I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,

Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

 

I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy

These words he did say as I boldly walked by.

Come an' sit down beside me an' hear my sad story.

I'm shot in the breast an' I know I must die.

 

It was once in the saddle, I used to go dashing.

Once in the saddle, I used to go gay.

First to the card-house and then down to Rose's.

But I'm shot in the breast and I'm dying today.

 

Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin.

Six dance-hall maidens to bear up my pall.

Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin.

Roses to deaden the clods as they fall.

 

Then beat the drum slowly, play the Fife lowly.

Play the dead march as you carry me along.

Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o'er me,

I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.

 

Then go write a letter to my grey-haired mother,

An' tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.

But please not one word of the man who had killed me.

Don't mention his name and his name will pass on.

 

When thus he had spoken, the hot sun was setting.

The streets of Laredo grew cold as the clay.

We took the young cowboy down to the green valley,

And there stands his marker, we made, to this day.

 

We beat the drum slowly and played the Fife lowly,

Played the dead march as we carried him along.

Down in the green valley, laid the sod o'er him.

He was a young cowboy and he said he'd done wrong.

I think I would rather be dead

 

 

So I walk where I will over mountain and hill

And I lie where the bracken is deep

I belong to the mountains, the clear-running fountains

Where the grey rocks rise rugged and steep

I've seen the white hare in the gulley

And the curlew fly high over head

And sooner than part from the mountains

I think I would rather be dead

 

The Rose of Tralee

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The pale moon was rising above the green mountain
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain
That stands in beautiful vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading
And Mary all smiling was listening to me
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

The Old Christholm Trail

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Come along, boys, and listen to my tale,

I'll tell you of my troubles on the Old Chizzum Trail.

 

Coma-ti yi yippy, yippy yea, yippy yea,

Coma-ti yi yippy, yippy yea.

 

I was born in Texas in the year '89,

I can ride anything this side the state line.

 

Went down to San Antone and went to workin' cattle,

And here come t&e sheep men and we had a battle.

 

There ain't no better territory in the United States,

But she shore is hotter than hell's own gates.

 

It's I an' Bill Jones was good old cronies,

We was always together on our sore-backed ponies.

We left Nelson Ranch on June twenty-third,

With a drove of Texas cattle, two thousand in the herd.

 

We whooped them through Gonzales, night was drawin' nigh

We bedded them down on a hill close by.

 

Foot in the stirrup, my seat in the saddle,

Best little cowboy that ever rode a-straddle.

 

Slicker in the wagon and pouring down hail,

Goin' round the herd with a dogie by the tail.

 

It's rainin' like hell and it's gittin' mighty cold,

And the long-horned sons-a-guns are gittin' mighty hard to hold.

 

Saddle up boys, and saddle up well,

For I think these cattle have scattered to hell.

 

Me and old Blue Dog arrived on the spot,

And we put them to milling like the boiling of a pot.

 

I'm on my best horse and I am goin' on a run,

I'm the quickest-shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.

 

I flushed them left, couldn't get 'em to stop, .

I can run as long as an eight-day clock.

 

My seat in the saddle and I gave a little shout

The lead cattle broke an' the herd went about.

 

My quirt in my hand, my slicker on my saddle,

I hung and rattled with them goddam cattle.

 

Some of 'em we captured without half tryin',

They was so damned scared they didn't need hog-tyin'.

 

We strung 'em out next mornin', and the boss made a count

And he said, "Boys, we are just a few out."

 

"Make a circle, boys, and don't lose no time,

I am sure they will be easy to find."

 

It was over the hillside and over the draws,

And we soon brought in the old Two Bars

 

It's bacon and beans 'most every day

I'd as soon been eatin' prairie hay.

 

I hit my little pony and he give a little rack,

And damned big luck if we ever get back.

 

I hit my little pony and he give a little rack,

And damned big luck if we ever get back.

 

I'm headed south just whoopin' and a-yellin',

If I don't find a steer, I'll take a heifer yearling.

 

Jumped in the saddle and hit him with my quirt,

The hind cinch busted and the saddle hit the dirt.

 

With my blankets and my gun and a rawhide rope,

I'm a-slidin' down the trail in a long keen lope.

 

I'll chew my tobacco and I'll squirt my juice,

I'm goin' down to town to see the old Blue Goose.

 

I went to the bar and struck on a bell,

Here comes a bunch of niggers running like hell.

 

Pulled out my gun, brought it on the level,

And them damn niggers run like the devil.

 

And they got me by the foreleg and put me in jail,

And I couldn't find a damn soul to go my bail.

 

Boss come around with a whip in his hand

And he swore, by God, I wasn't worth a damn.

 

I sold my horse and I sold my saddle,

You can go to hell with your longhorn cattle.

 

I'm goin' back home, I'm not jokin' or lyin',

I'm goin' back home, just a-yellin' and a-flyin'.

 

I hunted up the boss to draw my roll,

He figgered me out eight dollars in the hole.

 

I'm goin' downtown to get a little dope

'Cause my back's all broke from the draggin' of the rope.

 

Jumped on the train and gave such a yell,

The goose-back broke and the train went to hell.

 

When I thought of my gal I nearly would cry,

I'll quit herding cows in the sweet by and by.

 

I hadn't been at home but some days two or three

When I put off my gal for to see.

 

"If you've made up your mind to quit the cowboy life,

I have fully decided to be your little wife."

 

Farewell, old paint, I wish you no harm,

I've done quit the business to go on the farm.

 

No more a cow-puncher to sleep at my ease,

'Mid the crawlin' of the lice and the bitin' of the fleas.

 

Woke up one mornin' on the old Chizzum Trail

With my pecker in my hand and a cow by the tail

 

(alt. cho:)

Come and tie my pecker to a tree, to a tree

Come and tie my pecker to a tree.

 

Stray in the herd, and the boss says "Kill it"

So I shot it in the ass with the handle of a skillet.

 

First time I seed her she was floatin' down stream

With her ass blowin' bubbles and her pussy flowin' cream

 

Fucked her standin' and I fucked her lyin'

If she's had wings I'd of fucked her flyin'.

 

Last time I seed her, and I ain't seed her since

She was jackin' off a bull through a barbed wire fence.

 

Jumped in the saddle, and the saddle wasn't there

So I sunk eight inches in the old gray mare.

 

My seat's in the saddle and my saddle's in the sky

I'll quit punchin' cows in the sweet by and by.

The Manchester Rambler

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I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler from Manchester way

I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way

I may be a wage slave on Monday

But I am a free man on Sunday

 

I've been o'er the Snowdon, I've slept upon Crowden

I've camped by the Wain Stones as well

I've sunbaked on Kinder, been burnt to a cinder

And many more things I can tell

My rucksack has oft been my pillow

The heather has oft been my bed

And sooner than part from the mountains

I think I would rather be dead

 

The day was just ending as I was descending

By Grindsbrook, just by Upper Tor

When a voice cried, Eh you, in the way keepers do

He'd the worst face that ever I saw

The things that he said were unpleasant

In the teeth of his fury I said

Sooner than part from the mountains

I think I would rather be dead

 

He called me a louse and said, Think of the grouse

Well I thought but I still couldn't see

Why old Kinder Scout and the moors round about

Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me

He said, All this land is my master's

At that I stood shaking my head

No man has the right to all mountains

Any more than the deep ocean bed

 

I once loved a maid, a spot-welder by trade

She was fair as the rowan in bloom

And the blue of her eye matched the June moorland sky

And I wooed her from April to June

On the day that we should have been married

I went for a ramble instead

For sooner than part from the mountains

I think I would rather be dead

 

So I walk where I will over mountain and hill

And I lie where the bracken is deep

I belong to the mountains, the clear-running fountains

Where the grey rocks rise rugged and steep

I've seen the white hare in the gulley

And the curlew fly high over head

And sooner than part from the mountains

I think I would rather be dead