Cowboy Songs Part 33

A nice young ma-wa-wan Lived on a hi-wi-will; A nice young ma-wa-wan, For I knew him we-we-well.

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

This nice young ma-wa-wan Went out to mo-wo-wow To see if he-we-we Could make a sho-wo-wow.

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

He scarcely mo-wo-wowed Half round the fie-we-wield Till up jumped--come a rattle, come a sna-wa-wake, And bit him on the he-we-weel.

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

He laid right dow-we-wown Upon the gro-wo-wound And shut his ey-wy-wyes And looked all aro-wo-wound.

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

"O pappy da-wa-wad, Go tell my ga-wa-wal That I'm a-goin' ter di-wi-wie, For I know I sha-wa-wall."

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

"O pappy da-wa-wad, Go spread the ne-wu-wus; And here come Sa-wa-wall Without her sho-woo-woos."

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

"O John, O Joh-wa-wahn, Why did you go-wo-wo Way down in the mea-we-we-dow So far to mo-wo-wow?"

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

"O Sal, O Sa-wa-wall, Why don't you kno-wo-wow When the gra.s.s gits ri-wi-wipe, It must be mo-wo-woed?"

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

Come all young gir-wi-wirls And shed a tea-we-wear For this young ma-wa-wan That died right he-we-were.

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

Come all young me-we-wen And warning ta-wa-wake, And don't get bi-wi-wit By a rattle sna-wa-wake.

To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!

THE RAILROAD CORRAL

Oh we're up in the morning ere breaking of day, The chuck wagon's busy, the flapjacks in play; The herd is astir o'er hillside and vale, With the night riders rounding them into the trail.

Oh, come take up your cinches, come shake out your reins; Come wake your old broncho and break for the plains; Come roust out your steers from the long chaparral, For the outfit is off to the railroad corral.

The sun circles upward; the steers as they plod Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod; And it seems as the dust makes you dizzy and sick That we'll never reach noon and the cool, shady creek.

But tie up your kerchief and ply up your nag; Come dry up your grumbles and try not to lag; Come with your steers from the long chaparral, For we're far on the road to the railroad corral.

The afternoon shadows are starting to lean, When the chuck wagon sticks in the marshy ravine; The herd scatters farther than vision can look, For you can bet all true punchers will help out the cook.

Come shake out your rawhide and snake it up fair; Come break your old broncho to take in his share; Come from your steers in the long chaparral, For 'tis all in the drive to the railroad corral.

But the longest of days must reach evening at last, The hills all climbed, the creeks all past; The tired herd droops in the yellowing light; Let them loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight So flap up your holster and snap up your belt, And strap up your saddle whose lap you have felt; Good-bye to the steers from the long chaparral, For there's a town that's a trunk by the railroad corral.

THE SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER

BY ROLETTE

Hurrah for the great white way!

Hurrah for the dog and sledge!

As we snow-shoe along, We give them a song, With a snap of the whip and an urgent "mush on,"-- Hurrah for the great white way! Hurrah!

Hurrah for the snow and the ice!

As we follow the trail, We call to the dogs with whistle and song, And reply to their talk With only "mush on, mush on"!

Hurrah for the snow and the ice! Hurrah!

Hurrah for the gun and the trap,-- As we follow the lines By the rays of the mystic light That flames in the north with banners so bright, As we list to its swish, swish, swish, through the air all night, Hurrah for the gun and the trap! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Hurrah for the fire and cold!

As we lie in the robes all night.

And list to the howl of the wolf; For we emptied the pot of the tea so hot, And a king on his throne might envy our lot,-- Hurrah for the fire and cold! Hurrah!

Hurrah for our black-haired girls, Who brave the storms of the mountain heights And follow us on the great white way; For their eyes so bright light the way all right And guide us to shelter and warmth each night.

Hurrah for our black-haired girls! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

THE CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT

Through progress of the railroads our occupation's gone; So we will put ideas into words, our words into a song.

First comes the cowboy, he is pointed for the west; Of all the pioneers I claim the cowboys are the best; You will miss him on the round-up, it's gone, his merry shout,-- The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.

There is the freighters, our companions, you've got to leave this land, Can't drag your loads for nothing through the gumbo and the sand.

The railroads are bound to beat you when you do your level best; So give it up to the grangers and strike out for the west.

Bid them all adieu and give the merry shout,-- The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.

When I think of those good old days, my eyes with tears do fill; When I think of the tin can by the fire and the cayote on the hill.

I'll tell you, boys, in those days old-timers stood a show,-- Our pockets full of money, not a sorrow did we know.

But things have changed now, we are poorly clothed and fed.

Our wagons are all broken and our ponies most all dead.