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The Bunk-House Orchestra |
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Ay, the cold wind bit when we drifted down the
draw,
But we drifted on to comfort and to " Turkey in the Straw"
Snarlin' when the rain whipped, cussin' at the ford —
Ev'ry mile of twenty was a long discord, But the night is brimmin' music and its glory is com- plete When the eye is razzle-dazzled by the flip o' Shorty's feet! Snappy for the dance, now, till she up and
shoots! {Don't he beat the devil's wife for jiggin' in
his boots?) Shorty got throwed high and we laughed till he
was raw, But tonight he's done forgot it prancitt " Tur-
key in the Straw." Rainy dark or firelight, bacon rind or pie,
Livin' is a luxury that don't come high;
Oh, be happy and onruly while our years and luck
allow,
For we all must die or marry less than forty years from now!
Lively on the last turn! Lope 'er to the death!
(Reddy's soul is willin' but he's gettin' short o' breath.) 107 |
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