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THE BUFFALO HUNTERS |
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G
OME all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write, We are going to the range in which we take delight; We are going on the range as we poor hunters do, And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you.
It's all of the day long as we go tramping round In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him
down; Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty
rounds, We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting
grounds.
Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and
deer, Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear ; We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm, To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies
warm.
The buffalo, he is the noblest of the band, He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand. His shaggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky,
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