Now barbed wire and bacon
Is all that they will pay,
But you have to show your copper checks
To get your grain and hay;
If you ask them for five dollars,
Old Meyers will scratch his pate,
And the clerks in their white, stiff collars
Say, "Get down and pull your freight."
But I want to die and go to hell,
Get there before Livermore and Meyers,
And get a job of hauling coke
To keep up the devil's fires;
If I get the job of singeing them,
I'll see they don't get free;
I'll treat them like a yaller dog,
As they have treated me.
And it's home, dearest home;
And it's home you ought to be,
Over on the Gila,
In the white man's country,
Where the poplar and the ash
And mesquite will ever be
Growing green down on the Gila;
There's a home for you and me.
Come all of you people, I pray you draw near,
A comical ditty you all shall hear.
The boys in this country they try to advance
By courting the ladies and learning to dance,—
And they're down, down, and they're down.
The boys in this country they try to be plain,
Those words that you hear you may hear them again,
With twice as much added on if you can.
There's many a boy stuck up for a man,—
And they're down, down, and they're down.
They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll take,
And out in the dark their bottles they'll break;
You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here;
So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"—
And they're down, down, and they're down.
There is some wears shoes and some wears boots,
But there are very few that rides who don't shoot;
More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do,
They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,—
And they're down, down, and they're down.
They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel,
They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel,
Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit,
With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"—
And they're down, down, and they're down.
Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads
For here are some girls that's fully as bad;
They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair,
And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,—
And they're down, down, and they're down.