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THE RANGE RIDERS |
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C
OME all you range riders and listen to me, I will relate you a story of the saddest degree, I will relate you a story of the deepest distress,— I love my poor Lulu, boys, of all girls the best.
When you are out riding, boys, upon the highway,
Meet a fair damsel, a lady so gay,
With her red, rosy cheeks and her sparkling dark
eyes, Just think of my Lulu, boys, and your bosoms will
rise.
While you live single, boys, you are just in your
prime; You have no wife to scold, you have nothing to
bother your minds; You can roam this world over and do just as you
will, Hug and kiss the pretty girls and be your own still.
But when you get married, boys, you are done with
this life, You have sold your sweet comfort for to gain you
a wife;
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