For glory and payment, for vittles and raiment,
No longer we'll fight on the Texas frontier.
So guard your own ranches, and mind the Comanches
Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year.

Though sore it may grieve you, the rangers must leave you
Exposed to the arrows and knife of the foe;
So herd your own cattle and fight your own battle,
For home to the States I'm determined to go,--

Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal,
Where houses have people and ladies are kind;
Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded;
Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets are lined.

Your wives and your daughters we have guarded from slaughter,
Through conflicts and struggles I shudder to tell;
No more well defend them, to God we'll commend them.
To the frontier of Texas we bid a farewell.

THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY

Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me,
I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free;
He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down
His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the
ground.

They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least;
But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in
peace.
But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land,
For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man.

You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry,
And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny;
He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,--
Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke.

You can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks,
And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent;
But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent.
They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one.
They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done.

They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;
They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,
You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.

Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,
Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;
But take the kind advice of me as