| On my way out to the gold mines
|
| Crossing the western hills
|
| Me and my little dog, Clyde
|
| And a horse named Prancing Bill
|
| I slept under the stars
|
| I heard the coyotes sing
|
| And the sun was a golden coin
|
| Shining just for me
|
| (The sun shone just for me)
|
| But high up in the mountains
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| Bill began to foam
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| And I was whipped and tugged him
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| He bucked against his load
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| Round a hairpin turn
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| The wagon tumbled o’er
|
| And down the jagged rock
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| Bill fell with all I own
|
| (He fell with all I own)
|
| As the sun died out
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| The coyotes began to pout
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| Little Clyde’s head rose
|
| And answered with a growl
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| But when I bent to call him
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| He snapped at me and ran
|
| And then I was alone
|
| In the silent rocks and sand
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| (The silent rocks and sand)
|
| By my fifth day of walking
|
| I was crawling on my knees
|
| Eating handful of dust
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| From between the dying weeds
|
| I lay down in the dirt
|
| As the sun lost her glow
|
| But I was welcomed in the dark
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| By the song of a hundred toads
|
| (The song of a hundred toads)
|
| (The song of a hundred toads)
|
| (The song of a hundred toads) |