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American Ballads and Folk Songs
A beastly tramp, yet he ruled the camp With a battered iron spoon 5 He made us wait, he ever was late, And we were ever too soon.
He'd beat any bird you ever heard,
He'd warble and whistle and trill $
And many a note came out of his throat. |
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He'd whinny and neigh in a natural way. Why, he'd fool all the horses in campj And the measly mules, like a lot of darned fools, Was just stuck on the musical tramp.
Well, along in the fall he stopped whistling at all, Just sozzled around and cried j And first thing we knows, he had turned up his toes, I'll be darned if he hadn't died.
So we dug him a hole by the side of a knoll, By the side of a little brook; Each man wore a grin as we lowered him in— This typical company cook.
His mortal coil went under the soil, He had gone to be a spook j As we said farewell, the devil in hell Was roasting the company cook.
WE'VE DONE OUR HITCH IN HELL*
I'm sitting here a-thinking Of the things I left behind,
* From C. E. Anson, Wyoming-.
155*1 |
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