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THE DISHEARTENED RANGER
G
OME listen to a ranger, you kind-hearted stranger, This song, though a sad one, you're welcome to
hear; We've kept the Comanches away from your ranches, And followed them far o'er the Texas frontier.
We're weary of scouting, of traveling, and routing The blood-thirsty villains o'er prairie and wood; No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner, But he lies in a supperless bed in the mud.
No corn nor potatoes, no bread nor tomatoes, But jerked beef as dry as the sole of your shoe; All day without drinking, all night without winking, I'll tell you, kind stranger, this never will do.
Those great alligators, the State legislators, Are puffing and blowing two-thirds of their time, But windy orations about rangers and rations Never put in our pockets one-tenth of a dime.
They do not regard us, they will not reward us, Though hungry and haggard with holes in our coats; But the election is coming and they will be drumming And praising our valor to purchase our votes.
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