Lyrics:
|
|
'Twas in the town of Jacksboro, in the year of seventy-three
A fella by the name of Crego came walking up to me,
Saying "How d'ya do, young fella, and how would you like to go
And spend a summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?"
It's me being out of employment, to this Crego I did say,
"This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay.
But if you pay good wages, and transportation to and fro
Then I will gladly go with you to the range of the buffalo."
It's now our outfit was complete, seven able-bodied men,
With navy six and needle gun, our troubles did begin;
Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go
Until we reached Pease River, on the range of the buffalo.
It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun,
The first damned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb!
While skinning the damned old stinkers, our lives they were no go
For the Indians watched to pick us off on the range of the buffalo.
Our meat was rotten buffalo hump and ol' corn dodger bread
Strong coffee, alkalie water and a bull-hide for a bed.
How the fleas and skeeters lit on us, O boys, it was not slow
I tell you there's no hell on earth like 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;
Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I never could go
O God! I wished I had never come to the the range of the buffalo.
The season being over, old Crego he did say
"You boys have been extravagant, and are in debt to me this day"
The boys being no such business men, with them it was no go,
So we left his goddamn bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo.
Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River, and homeward we are bound,
And in that hell-fired country, we'll never more be found.
We'll go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others never to go
To that God-forsaken hell on earth called the range of the buffalo.
|