LITMIR.BIZ

      The bawl of a steer,

      To a cowboy's ear,

      Is music of sweetest strain;

      And the yelping notes

      Of the gray cayotes

      To him are a glad refrain.

      And his jolly songs

      Speed him along,

      As he thinks of the little gal

      With golden hair

      Who is waiting there

      At the bars of the home corral.

      For a kingly crown

      In the noisy town

      His saddle he wouldn't change;

      No life so free

      As the life we see

      Way out on the Yaso range.

      His eyes are bright

      And his heart as light

      As the smoke of his cigarette;

      There's never a care

      For his soul to bear,

      No trouble to make him fret.

      The rapid beat

      Of his broncho's feet

      On the sod as he speeds along,

      Keeps living time

      To the ringing rhyme

      Of his rollicking cowboy song.

      Hike it, cowboys,

      For the range away

      On the back of a bronc of steel,

      With a careless flirt

      Of the raw-hide quirt

      And a dig of a roweled heel!

      The winds may blow

      And the thunder growl

      Or the breezes may safely moan;—

      A cowboy's life

      Is a royal life,

      His saddle his kingly throne.

      Saddle up, boys,

      For the work is play

      When love's in the cowboy's eyes,—

      When his heart is light

      As the clouds of white

      That swim in the summer skies.

      Come all you jolly cowmen, don't you want to go

      Way up on the Kansas line?

      Where you whoop up the cattle from morning till night

      All out in the midnight rain.

      The cowboy's life is a dreadful life,

      He's driven through heat and cold;

      I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,

      A-ridin' through heat and cold.

      I've been where the lightnin', the lightnin' tangled in my eyes,

      The cattle I could scarcely hold;

      Think I heard my boss man say:

      "I want all brave-hearted men who ain't afraid to die

      To whoop up the cattle from morning till night,

      Way up on the Kansas line."

      Speaking of your farms and your shanty charms,

      Speaking of your silver and gold,—

      Take a cowman's advice, go and marry you a true and lovely little wife,

      Never to roam, always stay at home;

      That's a cowman's, a cowman's advice,

      Way up on the Kansas line.

      Think I heard the noisy cook say,

      "Wake up, boys, it's near the break of day,"—

      Way up on the Kansas line,

      And slowly we will rise with the sleepy feeling eyes,

      Way up on the Kansas line.

      The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,

      All out in the midnight rain;

      I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,

      Way up on the Kansas line.

      Now, O Lord, please lend me thine ear,

      The prayer of a cattleman to hear,

      No doubt the prayers may seem strange,

      But I want you to bless our cattle range.

      Bless the round-ups year by year,

      And don't forget the growing steer;

      Water the lands with brooks and rills

      For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.

      Prairie fires, won't you please stop?

      Let thunder roll and water drop.

      It frightens me to see the smoke;

      Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.

      As you, O Lord, my herd behold,

      It represents a sack of gold;

      I think at least five cents a pound

      Will be the price of beef the year around.

      One thing more and then I'm through,—

      Instead of one calf, give my cows two.

      I may pray different from other men

      But I've had my say, and now, Amen.

      In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser,

      His singlejack was resting

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