Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile, His face and hands were scratched. He said he thought he could rope a snake But he guessed he'd met his match. He paid his bets like a little man Without a bit of jaw, And lowed old Blackie was the boss Of anything in the draw. There's a moral to my story, boys, And that you all must see. Whenever you go to tie a snake,[10] Don't tie it to your tree; But take your dolly welters[11] 'Cordin' to California law, And you'll never see your old rim-fire[12] Go drifting down the draw. [Footnote 10: snake, bad steer.] [Footnote 11: Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.] [Footnote 12: rim-fire saddle, without flank girth.] WILD ROVERS Come all you wild rovers And listen to me While I retail to you My sad history. I'm a man of experience Your favors to gain, Oh, love has been the ruin Of many a poor man. When you are single And living at your ease You can roam this world over And do as you please; You can roam this world over And go where you will And slyly kiss a pretty girl And be your own still. But when you are married And living with your wife, You've lost all the joys And comforts of life. Your wife she will scold you, Your children will cry, And that will make papa Look withered and dry. You can't step aside, boys, To speak to a friend Without your wife at your elbow Saying, "What does this mean?" Your wife, she will scold And there is sad news. Dear boys, take warning; 'Tis a life to refuse. If you chance to be riding Along the highway And meet a fair maiden, A lady so gay, With red, rosy cheeks And sparkling blue eyes,-- Oh, heavens! what a tumult In your bosom will rise! One more request, boys, Before we must part: Don't place your affections On a charming sweetheart; She'll dance before you Your favors to gain. Oh, turn your back on them With scorn and disdain! Come close to the bar, boys, We'll drink all around. We'll drink to the pure, If any be found; We'll drink to the single, For I wish them success; Likewise to the married, For I wish them no less. LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK 'Tis life in a half-breed shack, The rain comes pouring down; "Drip" drops the mud through the roof, And the wind comes through the wall. A tenderfoot cursed his luck And feebly cried out "yah!" Refrain: Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma! Yah! Yah! this bloomin' country's a fraud! Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma! He tries to kindle a fire When it's forty-five below; He aims to chop at a log And amputates his toe; He hobbles back to the shack And feebly cries out "yah"! He gets on a bucking cayuse And thinks to flourish around, But the buzzard-head takes to bucking And lays him flat out on the ground. As he picks himself up with a curse, He feebly cries out "yah"!