It was in the year of eighty-three That A.J. Stinson hired me. He says, "Young fellow, I want you to go And drive this herd to Mexico." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. The first horse they gave me was an old black With two big set-fasts on his back; I padded him with gunny-sacks and my bedding all; He went up, then down, and I got a fall. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. The next they gave me was an old gray, I'll remember him till my dying day. And if I had to swear to the fact, I believe he was worse off than the black. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, it was early in the year When I went on trail to drive the steer. I stood my guard through sleet and snow While on the trail to Mexico. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, it was a long and lonesome go As our herd rolled on to Mexico; With laughter light and the cowboy's song To Mexico we rolled along. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. When I arrived in Mexico I wanted to see my love but could not go; So I wrote a letter, a letter to my dear, But not a word from her could I hear. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. When I arrived at the once loved home I called for the darling of my own; They said she had married a richer life, Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, the girl she is married I do adore, And I cannot stay at home any more; I'll cut my way to a foreign land Or I'll go back west to my cowboy band. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. I'll go back to the Western land, I'll hunt up my old cowboy band,-- Where the girls are few and the boys are true And a false-hearted love I never knew. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. "O Buddie, O Buddie, please stay at home, Don't be forever on the roam. There is many a girl more true than I, So pray don't go where the bullets fly." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. "It's curse your gold and your silver too, God pity a girl that won't prove true; I'll travel West where the bullets fly, I'll stay on the trail till the day I die." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. THE HORSE WRANGLER I thought one spring just for fun I'd see how cow-punching was done, And when the round-ups had begun I tackled the cattle-king. Says he, "My foreman is in town, He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown, If you'll see him, he'll take you down." Says I, "That's just the thing." We started for the ranch next day; Brown augured me most all the way. He said that cow-punching was nothing but play, That it was no work at all,-- That all you had to do was ride, And only drifting with the tide; The son of a gun, oh, how he lied. Don't you think he had his gall?