OH! young Lochinvar has come out of the West,
Thro' all the wide border his horse has no equal,
Having cost him forty-five dollars at the market,
Where good nags, fresh from the country,
With burrs still in their tails are selling
For a song; and save his good broadsword
He weapon had none, except a seven shooter
Or two, a pair of brass knuckles, and an Arkansaw
Toothpick in his boot, so, comparatively speaking,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,