| A way out on the windswept desert
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| Where nature favors no man
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| A buffalo found his brother
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| Lying naked on the sun baked sand
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| He said, «My brother what ails you?
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| Has sickness made you this way?»
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| His brother never said
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| Cause his brother was dead
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| He’d been dead since way last May
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| Big Chief Buffalo Nickel
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| Was a mighty man in his day
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| He never used a sickle
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| To clear the bushes away
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| He roamed around from tent to tent
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| Heed everything in sight
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| He loved his squaw, everyone he saw
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| He loved a new one every night
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| A way out on the windswept desert
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| I heard a big Indian moan
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| I left my tent, cause I knew what it meant
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| I swore I nevermore would roam
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| It was dawn when I reached Saint Pete
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| My legs were certainly sore
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| I must have lost fifty pounds
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| On that hot desert ground
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| And I’d lose that many more
|
| Big Chief Buffalo Nickel
|
| Was a mighty man in his day
|
| He never used a sickle
|
| To clear the bushes away
|
| He roamed around from tent to tent
|
| Heed everything in sight
|
| He loved his squaw, everyone he saw
|
| He loved a new one every night
|
| Songwriter: Jimmie Rodgers |