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The Old Chisholm Trail
My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud, My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd.
Last time I saw him he was going cross the level A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil.
It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain,
And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.
Crippled my hoss, I don't know how, Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow.
We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly, We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by.
No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain, And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again.
Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle,
I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle.
Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the
ranks, I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him
in the flanks.
The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to
fall, Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all.