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THE OLD COWMAN |
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I
RODE across a valley range
I hadn't seen for years. The trail was all so spoilt and strange It nearly fetched the tears. I had to let ten fences down,— (The fussy lanes ran wrong) And each new line would make me frown And hum a mournin' song. Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
Hear 'em stretchin' of the wire! The nester brand is on the land; I reckon I'll retire. While progress toots her brassy horn
And makes her motor buzz, I thank the Lord I wasn't born No later than I wuz! 'Twas good to live when all the sod,
Without no fence nor fuss, Belonged in partnership to God, The Government and us. With skyline bounds from east to west And room to go and come, I loved my f ellowman the best When he was scattered some. 165 |
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