| By a blackened wood stove in a run down old bunkhouse
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| Sat an old buckaroo with his hat in his hand
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| And he lowered his voice as he told me about 'em
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| Them wild western women that wore no man’s brand
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| Well the old man remembered they’d drive you plum crazy
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| Dancin' for nickels 'neath the bar rooms oil light
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| We’d come off the trail and they’d be waiting for us
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| Them purty painted ladies in dresses so bright
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| Where’s all the pretty painted ladies
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| Where’s all the dance hall gals
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| Where are you Lil are you still young and pretty
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| Are you waiting for me at the end of the trail
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| Slowly they’d swirl with the ranchers and the wranglers
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| While the piano played on into the night
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| They’d be kickin' their skirts past the worry raw hiders
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| Purty painted ladies I miss you tonight
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| Well I told the old timer that they’d all moved on years ago
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| No more purty Lil no more Buffalo Sal
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| But he said son some nights I can see 'em
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| A singin' and a dancin' at the end of the trail
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| Where’s all the pretty painted ladies
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| Where’s all the dance hall gals
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| Where are you Lil are you still young and pretty
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| Are you waiting for me at the end of the trail |