All day o'er the prairies alone I ride
Not even a dog to run by my side
My fire I kindle with the chips gathered 'round
And boil my coffee without being ground
Bread lacking leaven I bake in a pot
And sleep on the ground for want of a cot
I wash in a puddle and wipe on a sack
And I carry my wardrobe all on my back
And if my cooking's not very complete,
Hygienists can't blame me for wanting to eat;
And show me the fellow who sleeps more profound
Than the cowboy who stretches himself on the ground.
My roof is the sky; my floor is the grass;
My music the lowing of herds as they pass.
My books are the brooks; my sermon, the stones;
My parson's a wolf on a pulpit of bones.
My books teach me constancy ever to prize;
My sermons, that small things I should not despise
My parson remarks from his pulpit of bone
That "The Lord favors them who look out for their
own."
Between love and me lies a gulf very wide
And a luckier fellow may call her his bride
But cupid is always a friend to the bold
And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold
Friends gently hint I am coming to grief
But men must make money and women have beef
Society brands me a savage and dodge
The Masons would ball me out of their lodge
If I'd hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat
That bore all our sins in the ages remote.
But why it is thusly, I don't understand;
For most of the Patriarchs owned their own brand
Abraham emigrated in search of a range
When water got scarce and he wanted a change.
Isaac kept cattle in the charge of Esau
And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law.
They started in business clear down at bedrock
And made quite a fortune by watering stock
David went from night herding and using a sling
To winning a battle and being a king.
Words:
various sources: Gilston, Fife, Canon, Orlin
Tune:
mostly Mark Gilston from a 1924 recording of Carl Sprague.
