Paroles
1. All day in the saddle on the prairie I ride,
Not even a dog, boys, to trot by my side.
My fire I must kindle with chips gathered `round,
And I boil my own coffee without being ground.
For want of a stove I cook bread in a pot,
I sleep on the ground, boys, for want of a cot.
I bathe in the creek and I dry on a sack.
I carry my wardrobe all on my back.
2. My books are the brooks and my sermons the stones,
My parson’s wolf on his pulpit of bones.
My roof is the sky, my floor is the grass,
My music’s the lowing of herds as they pass.
3. And then if my cooking’s not very complete
You can't blame me for wanting to eat.
But show me the man who sleeps more profound
Than the big puncher-boy who’s stretched our on the ground.
4. Society brands me so savage and dumb
That the Masons would ball me out of their lodge.
If I had hair on my chin, I’d resemble the goat
That bore all the sins in the ages remote.
5. Now my parson remarks from his pulpit of bones
Fortune favors those who look out for their own.
And Cupid is always a friend to the bold,
And all of his arrows are pointed with gold.
