Posts filed under ‘.Gold_Rush’

Home on the Range

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer and the antelope play;
There seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the sky is not cloudy all day.

Chorus
A home, a home
Where the deer and the antelope play,
There seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the sky is not cloudy all day.

Yes, give me the gleam of the swift mountain stream
And the place where no hurricane blows;
Oh, give me the park where the prairie dogs bark
And the mountain all covered with snow.

Chorus

Oh, give me the hills and the ring of the drills
And the rich silver ore in the ground;
Yes, give me the gulch where the miner can sluice
And the bright, yellow gold can be found.

Chorus

Oh, give me the mine where the prospectors find
The gold in its own native land;
And the hot springs below where the sick people go
And camp on the banks of the Grande.

Chorus

Oh, give me the steed and the gun that I need
To shoot game for my own cabin home;
Then give me the camp where the fire is the lamp
And the wild Rocky Mountains to roam.

Chorus

Yes, give me the home where the prospectors roam
Their business is always alive
In these wild western hills midst the ring of the drills
Oh, there let me live till I die.

Chorus

Home on the Range

September 25, 2013 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Sweet Betsy from Pike

Oh don’t you remember sweet Betsy from Pike,
Who crossed the wide prairie with her lover Ike,
With two yoke of oxen, a big yellow dog,
A tall Shangai rooster, and one spotted hog?

CHORUS:
Singing dang fol dee dido,
Singing dang fol dee day.

One evening quite early they camped on the Platte.
‘Twas near by the road on a green shady flat.
Where Betsy, sore-footed, lay down to repose —
With wonder Ike gazed on that Pike County rose.

The Shanghai ran off, and their cattle all died;
That morning the last piece of bacon was fried;
Poor Ike was discouraged and Betsy got mad,
The dog drooped his tail and looked wondrously sad.

They stopped at Salt Lake to inquire of the way,
Where Brigham declared that sweet Betsy should stay;
But Betsy got frightened and ran like a deer
While Brigham stood pawing the ground like a steer.

They soon reached the desert where Betsy gave out,
And down in the sand she lay rolling about;
While Ike, half distracted, looked on with surprise,
Saying, “Betsy, get up, you’ll get sand in your eyes.”

Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain,
Declared she’d go back to Pike County again;
But Ike gave a sigh and they fondly embraced,
And they traveled along with his arm round her waist.

The Injuns came down in a wild yelling horde,
And Betsy was scared they would scalp her adored;
Behind the front wagon wheel Betsy did crawl,
And there fought the Injuns with musket and ball.

They suddenly stopped on a very high hill,
With wonder looked down upon old Placerville;
Ike sighed when he said, and he cast his eyes down,
“Sweet Betsy, my darling, we’ve got to Hangtown.”

Long Ike and Sweet Betsy attended a dance;
Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants;
Sweet Betsy was dressed up in ribbons and rings;
Says Ike, “You’re an angel, but where are your wings?”

‘Twas out on the prairie one bright starry night,
They broke out the whiskey and Betsy got tight,
She sang and she howled and she danced o’er the plain,
And showed her bare legs to the whole wagon train.

The terrible desert was burning and bare,
And Isaac he shrank from the death lurkin’ there,
“Dear old Pike County, I’ll come back to you.”
Says Betsy, “You’ll go by yourself if you do.”

They swam wild rivers and climbed the tall peaks,
And camped on the prairies for weeks upon weeks,
Starvation and cholera, hard work and slaughter,
They reached Californy, spite of hell and high water.

A miner said, “Betsy, will you dance with me?”
“I will, you old hoss, if you don’t make too free.
But don’t dance me hard, do you want to know why?
Doggone ye, I’m chock full of strong alkali.”

Long Ike and Sweet Betsy got married, of course,
But Ike, getting jealous, obtained a divorce,
While Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,
“Goodbye, you big lummox, I’m glad you backed out!”

Sweet Betsy From Pike, Folk Song, c. 1870

September 24, 2013 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Oh, Susannah

I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee
I’m going to Louisiana,
My true love for to see.

It rained all night the day I left
The weather it was dry
The sun so hot, I froze to death
Susannah, don’t you cry.

Oh, Susannah,
Oh don’t you cry for me
For I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee.

I had a dream the other night
When everything was still
I dreamed I saw Susannah dear
A-coming down the hill.

The buckwheat cake was in her mouth
The tear was in her eye
Says I, “I’m coming from the south,
Susannah, don’t you cry.”

Oh, Susannah,
Oh don’t you cry for me
For I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee.

I come from A-la-ba-ma
With a ban-jo on my knee,
I’m going to Lou-i-siana,
My true love for to see.

Oh, Su-san-nah, oh,
Don’t you cry for me,
For I come from A-la-ba-ma
With a ban-jo on my knee.

American and Multicultural Folk Song Lyrics

September 23, 2013 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Oh, California

I sailed from Salem City with my wash-bowl on my knee,
I’m goin’ to Cal-i-for-ni-a, the gold dust for to see.
It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry,
The sun so hot I froze to death, oh brothers don’t you cry!

Chorus
Oh, California, that’s the land for me!
I’m goin’ to San Francisco with my wash-bowl on my knee.

I soon shall be in Frisco, and there I’ll look around,
And when I find the gold lumps there I’ll pick them off the ground.
I’ll scrape the mountains clean, my boys, I’ll drain the rivers dry,
A pocketfut of rocks bring home, oh brothers don’t you cry!

Chorus
Oh, California, that’s the land for me!
I’m goin’ to San Francisco with my wash-bowl on my knee.

I’ll take my wash-bowl in my hand an thither wind my way,
To wash the gold from out the sand in Cal-i-for-ni-a.
And when I get my pocket full in that bright land of gold,
I’ll have a rich and happy time, liver merry till I’m old.

Chorus
Oh, California, that’s the land for me!
I’m goin’ to San Francisco with my wash-bowl on my knee.

September 21, 2013 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment


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