I've been upon the prairie, I've been upon the plain, I've never rid a steam-boat, Nor a double-cinched-up train. But I've driv my eight-up to wagon That were locked three in a row, And that through blindin' sand storms, And all kinds of wind and snow.
Cho:-- Goodbye, Liza, poor gal, Goodbye, Liza Jane, Goodbye, Liza, poor gal, She died on the plain.
There never was a place I've been Had any kind of wood. We burn the roots of bar-grass And think it's very good. I've never tasted home bread, Nor cakes, nor muss like that; But I know fried dough and beef Pulled from red-hot tallow fat.
I hate to see the wire fence A-closin' up the range; And all this fillin' in the trail With people that is strange. We fellers don't know how to plow, Nor reap the golden grain; But to round up steers and brand the cows To us was allus plain.
So when this blasted country Is all closed in with wire, And all the top, as trot grass, Is burnin' in Sol's fire, I hope the settlers will be glad When rain hits the land. And all us cowdogs are in hell With a "set"[9] joined hand in hand.
[Footnote 9: "set" means settler.]