American Ballads and Folk Songs: page - 0539
Complete Text, Lyrics & Sheet Music
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American Ballads and Folk Songs |
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Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale, An object of pity, I'm looking quite stale, I gave up my trade selling Wright'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, they call it Cheyenne,
For big Wallipe or Comanche Bill
They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.
The roundhouse at Cheyenne is filled every night With loafers and bummers of most every plight} On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills, Each day they 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}
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