While the posse hunts your daddie,

'Cause he stole Bill Kelly's hoss.

3  

Now, I don't know where you're roaming,

And I don't know where'll you'll land;

But I wish you knew my feelin's,

And 'twas clear just how I stand:

How the good Lord, high in heaven,

Put a throbbing heart in here,

But it starts to pumping backwards

When it feels that you don't keer.

I'm a roving old jay-hawker,

Never caught like this before,

But I'd give my last possession

For a glimpse of you once more.

If we lose your old fool father

Folks 'round here can stand the loss,

He was raised in old Missoura,

Or he'd never stole that hoss.

4  

 Prev. P 12/103 next