| It was in the town of Griffin, the year was eighty three
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| It was there an old cow puncher, stepped up and said to me
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| How do you do young fellow and how would you like to go
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| And spend a pleasant summer, out in New Mexico
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| I’ll furnish you good wages, your transportation too
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| If you will but go with me, one summer season through
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| But if you should get homesick and back to Griffin go
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| Then I’ll furnish you no horses from the hills of Mexico
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| We left the town of Griffin in the merry month of May
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| When all the world was lovely and everything was gay
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| With saddles on our horses, marching over we did go
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| Until we reached the logging out in New Mexico
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| It was there our pleasures ended and our troubles they began
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| The first hail storm fell on us, those cattle how they ran
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| Through all the thorns and thistles, us cowboys had to go
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| While the Indians watched upon us, out in New Mexico
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| Well, when the drive was over, the riders would not pay
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| To all you happy people, this much I have to say
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| Go back to your friends and loved ones, tell others not to go
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| To the God forsaken country, they call New Mexico |