American Ballads and Songs

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The fleas and gray-backs worked on us, 0 boys, it was
not slow, I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the
range of the buffalo.
Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls
were cased with steel, And the hardships of that summer would nearly make
us reel. While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they
had no show, For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of
The season being near over, old Crego he did say The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him
that day,— We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no
go — We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the
Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward
we are bound, No more in that hell-fired country shall we ever be
found. Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not
to go, For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned
old buffalo.