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American Ballads and Folk Songs
"Tell my sweetheart not to mourn for me with sorrow too intense, For I'm going to a warmer and far more cheerful hence. Oh, the air is growing thicker, and the breezes give me chills, Gee! I wish I was in Deadwood, in Deadwood on the hills.
"Tell my friends and tell my enemies, if you ever reach the East, That the Dawson City region is no place for man or beast} That the land's too elevated and the wind too awful cold, And the hills of South Dakota yield as good a grade of gold.
"Now, so long," he faintly whispered. "I have told you what to do."
And he closed his weary eyelids and froze solid P.D.Q.
We procured an organ box and C.O.D.'d the bills
And sent the miner home that night to Deadwood on the hills.