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CROSSING THE DIVIDE 55 |
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CROSSING THE DIVIDE
By J. W. Foley
One of the best of the lot. Heard this ate round-up in the Mogollon Mountains, sung by a puncher named Freckles.
Parson, I'm a maverick, just runnin' loose an'
grazin', Eatin' where's th' greenest grass an' drinkin' where
I choose; Had to rustle in my youth an' never had no raisin'; Was n't never halter broke an' I ain't much to lose; Used to sleepin' in a bag an' livin' in a slicker; Church folks never branded me — I don't know as
they tried; Wish you'd say a prayer for me an' try to make a
dicker For the best they 'II give me when I cross the Big
Divide.
Tell 'em I ain't corralled a night in more'n twenty; Tell 'em I 'm rawboned an' rough an' ain'tmuch for
looks; Tell 'em I don't need much grief because I've had
a-plenty; I don't know how bad I am 'cause I ain't kept no
books. Tell 'eml'm a maverick a-runnin' looseunbranded; Tell 'em I shoot straight an' quick an' ain't got much
to hide; Have 'em come an' size me up as soon as I get
landed, For the best they '11 give me when I cross the Great
Divide. |
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