With my feet in the stirrups, my bridle in my hand;
Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
Old Paint's a good pony, he paces when he can;
Goodbye, little Annie, I'm off for Cheyenne.
Oh, hitch up your horses and feed 'em some hay,
And seat yourself by me so long as you stay.
My horses ain't hungry, they'll not eat your hay;
My wagon is loaded and rolling away.
My foot in my stirrup, my reins in my hand;
Good-morning, young lady, my horses won't stand.
Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
From way down south on the Rio Grande,
Roll on steers for the Post Oak Sand,—
Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
You'd laugh fur to see that fellow a-straddle
Of a mustang mare on a raw-hide saddle,—
Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
Rich as a king, and he wouldn't be bigger
Fur a pitchin' hoss and a lame old nigger,—
Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.