me cowboy,
I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy
And a long ways from home.

I ain't got no mother,
I ain't got no mother,
I ain't got no mother
To mend the clothes I wear.

I ain't got no sister,
I ain't got no sister,
I ain't got no sister
To go and play with me.

I ain't got no brother,
I ain't got no brother,
I ain't got no brother
To drive the steers with me.

I ain't got no sweetheart,
I ain't got no sweetheart,
I ain't got no sweetheart
To sit and talk with me.

I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy
And a long ways from home.

BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD

On Buena Vista battlefield
A dying soldier lay,
His thoughts were on his mountain home
Some thousand miles away.
He called his comrade to his side,
For much he had to say,
In briefest words to those who were
Some thousand miles away.

"My father, comrade, you will tell
About this bloody fray;
My country's flag, you'll say to him,
Was safe with me to-day.
I make a pillow of it now
On which to lay my head,
A winding sheet you'll make of it
When I am with the dead.

"I know 'twill grieve his inmost soul
To think I never more
Will sit with him beneath the oak
That shades the cottage door;
But tell that time-worn patriot,
That, mindful of his fame,
Upon this bloody battlefield
I sullied not his name.

"My mother's form is with me now,
Her will is in my ear,
And drop by drop as flows my blood
So flows from her the tear.
And oh, when you shall tell to her
The tidings of this day,
Speak softly, comrade, softly speak
What you may have to say.

"Speak not to her in blighting words
The blighting news you bear,
The cords of life might snap too soon,
So, comrade, have a care.
I am her only, cherished child,
But tell her that I died
Rejoicing that she taught me young
To take my country's side.

"But, comrade, there's one more,
She's gentle as a fawn;
She lives upon the sloping hill
That overlooks the lawn,
The lawn where I shall never more
Go forth with her in merry mood
To gather wild-wood flowers.

"Tell her when death was on my brow
And life receding fast,
Her looks, her form was with me then,
Were with me to the last.
On Buena Vista's bloody field
Tell her I dying lay,
And that I knew she thought of me