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American Ballads and Folk Songs
Early in the spring we round up the dogies, Mark 'em and brand 'em and bob off their tails j Drive up our horses, load up the chuck-wagon, Then throw the dogies out on the trail.
It's whoopin' and yellin' and a-drivin' them dogies; Oh, how I wish that you would go onj It's a-whoopin' and punchin' and go on-a, little dogies, For you know Wyoming is to be your new home.
Some boys goes up the trail for pleasure, But that's where you get it most awfully wrong; For you haven't any idea the trouble they give us While we go driving them along.
When the night comes on and we hold them on the bed-ground,
These little dogies that roll on so slow;
Round up the herd and cut out the strays,
And roll the little dogies that never rolled before.
Your mother she was raised way down in Texas, Where the jimson weed and sand-burrs grow; Now we'll fix you up on prickly pear and cholla Till you're ready for the trail to Idaho.
Oh, you'll be beef for Uncle Sam's Injuns; "It's beef, heap beef," I hear them cry. Git along, git along, git along-a, little dogies, You're gonna be beef steers by and by.
Following a talk I made at Bryn Mawr in November, 1932, Owen Wister related an incident in his own experience which he incorporated subsequently in a letter:
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