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COWBOY SONGS
The Dreary Black Hills ~ Lyrics
Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale,
I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale,
I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills
To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.
Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
For big Walipe or Comanche Bills
They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.
The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night
With loafers and bummers of most every plight;
On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,
Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.
I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,
I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;
Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,--
They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.
Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold,
Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold;
Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill
By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.
Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills
They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.
The Dreary Black Hills (Mus. Not.)
Kind friends, you must pit-y my hor-ri-ble tale,
I'm an ob-ject of pit-y, I'm look-ing quite stale;
I gave up my trade, Selling Right's Pat-ent Pills,
To go hunt-ing gold In the drear-y Black Hills.
REFRAIN
Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can;
Stay a-way from that cit-y they call it Chey-enne;
For big Wal-i-pee or Co-man-che Bills,
They will lift up your hair On the drear-y Black Hills.
COWBOY SONGS
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