Cowboy Songs | Page 7

I will admit, Though they were brave and true. Whatever the

pinch, they ne'er would flinch; They never would fret nor whine, Like
good old bricks they stood the kicks In the days of Forty-Nine.
There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss, Who never would repent;
He never missed a single meal, Nor never paid a cent. But old "Aunt
Jess," like all the rest, At death he did resign, And in his bloom went up
the flume In the days of Forty-Nine.
There is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man, Who could out-roar a buffalo,
you bet, He roared all day and he roared all night, And I guess he is
roaring yet. One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,-- It was a roaring bad
design,-- And in that hole Jim roared out his soul In the days of
Forty-Nine.
There is Wylie Bill, the funny man, Who was full of funny tricks, And
when he was in a poker game He was always hard as bricks. He would
ante you a stud, he would play you a draw, He'd go you a hatful blind,--
In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath In the days of Forty-Nine.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, Who was fond of getting
tight. And every time he got on a spree He was spoiling for a fight. One
night Jake rampaged against a knife In the hands of old Bob Sine, And
over Jake they held a wake In the days of Forty-Nine.
There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget The luck he always had, He
would deal for you both day and night Or as long as he had a scad. It
was a pistol shot that lay Pete out, It was his last resign, And it caught
Pete dead sure in the door In the days of Forty-Nine.
Of all the comrades that I've had There's none that's left to boast, And I
am left alone in my misery Like some poor wandering ghost. And as I
pass from town to town, They call me the rambling sign, Since the days
of old and the days of gold And the days of Forty-Nine.

Days of Forty-Nine (Mus. Not.)
You are gaz-ing now on old Tom Moore, A rel-ic of by-gone days; 'Tis

a bum-mer now they call me. But what cares I for praise; It is oft, says I,
for days gone by, It's oft do I repine For those days of old when we dug
out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine, In those days of old when we
dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine.

JOE BOWERS
My name is Joe Bowers, I've got a brother Ike, I came here from
Missouri, Yes, all the way from Pike. I'll tell you why I left there And
how I came to roam, And leave my poor old mammy, So far away from
home.
I used to love a gal there, Her name was Sallie Black, I asked her for to
marry me, She said it was a whack. She says to me, "Joe Bowers,
Before you hitch for life, You ought to have a little home To keep your
little wife."
Says I, "My dearest Sallie, O Sallie, for your sake, I'll go to California
And try to raise a stake." Says she to me, "Joe Bowers, You are the
chap to win, Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"-- And I throwed a
dozen in.
I'll never forget my feelings When I bid adieu to all. Sal, she cotched
me round the neck And I began to bawl. When I begun they all
commenced, You never heard the like, How they all took on and cried
The day I left old Pike.
When I got to this here country I hadn't nary a red, I had such wolfish
feelings I wished myself most dead. At last I went to mining, Put in my
biggest licks, Came down upon the boulders Just like a thousand
bricks.
I worked both late and early In rain and sun and snow, But I was
working for my Sallie So 'twas all the same to Joe. I made a very lucky
strike As the gold itself did tell, For I was working for my Sallie, The
girl I loved so well.

But one day I got a letter From my dear, kind brother Ike; It came from
old Missouri, Yes, all the way from Pike. It told me the goldarndest
news That ever you did hear, My heart it is a-bustin' So please excuse
this tear.
I'll tell you what it was, boys, You'll bust your sides I know; For when I
read that letter You ought to seen poor Joe. My knees gave 'way
beneath