sses a tune at my head,
A gay little centipede, all without fear,
Crawls over my pillow and into my ear.

Now all you claim holders, I hope you will stay
And chew your hard tack till you're toothless and gray;
But for myself, I'll no longer remain
To starve like a dog on my government claim.

My clothes are all ragged as my language is rough,
My bread is corn dodgers, both solid and tough;
But yet I am happy, and live at my ease
On sorghum molasses, bacon, and cheese.

Good-bye to Greer County where blizzards arise,
Where the sun never sinks and a flea never dies,
And the wind never ceases but always remains
Till it starves us all out on our government claims.

Farewell to Greer County, farewell to the West,
I'll travel back East to the girl I love best,
I'll travel back to Texas and marry me a wife,
And quit corn bread for the rest of my life.

ROSIN THE BOW

I live for the good of my nation
And my sons are all growing low,
But I hope that my next generation
Will resemble Old Rosin the Bow.

I have traveled this wide world all over,
And now to another I'll go,
For I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome Old Rosin the Bow.

The gay round of delights I have traveled,
Nor will I behind leave a woe,
For while my companions are jovial
They'll drink to Old Rosin the Bow.

This life now is drawn to a closing,
All will at last be so,
Then we'll take a full bumper at parting
To the name of Old Rosin the Bow.

When I am laid out on the counter,
And the people all anxious to know,
Just raise up the lid of the coffin
And look at Old Rosin the Bow.

And when through the streets my friends bear me,
And the ladies are filled with deep woe,
They'll come to the doors and the windows
And sigh for Old Rosin the Bow.

Then get some fine, jovial fellows,
And let them all staggering go;
Then dig a deep hole in the meadow
And in it toss Rosin the Bow.

Then get a couple of dornicks,
Place one at my head and my toe,
And do not forget to scratch on them,
"Here lies Old Rosin the Bow."

Then let those same jovial fellows
Surround my lone grave in a row,
While they drink from my favorite bottle
The health of Old Rosin the Bow.

THE GREAT ROUND-UP

When I think of the last great round-up
On the eve of eternity's dawn,
I think of the past of the cowboys
Who have been wit