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THE DREARY BLACK HILLS
K IND friends, you must pity my horrible tale, I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale, I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.
Don't go away, stay at home if you can, Stay away from that city, diey call it Cheyenne, For big Walipe or Comanche Bills They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.
The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night "yVith loafers and bummers of most every plight; On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills, Each day tliey keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.
I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,
I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;
Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the
gills,— They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.
Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold, Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold; Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.