The Cowboy's Lament

As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,

As I walked out in Laredo one day,

I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen,

Wrapped up in white linen as cold as the clay.

"Oh beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,

Play the Dead March as you carry me along;

Take me to the green valley, there lay the sod o'er me,

For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.

"I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy'--

These words he did say as I boldly stepped by.

"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,

I am shot in the breast and I know I must die.

"Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin,

Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song.

Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me,

For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.

"My friends and relations they live in the Nation,

They know not where their boy has gone.

I first came to Texas and hired to a ranchman.

Oh I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.

"It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing,

It was once in the saddle I used to go gay

First to the dram-house and then to the card-house,

Got shot in the breast and I am dying to-day.

"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin,

Get six pretty maidens to bear up my pall.

Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,

Put roses to deaden the sods as they fall.

"Then swing your ropes lowly and rattle your spurs lowly,

And give a wild whoop as you carry me along,

And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me,

For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.

"Oh bury beside me my knife and six-shooter,

My spurs on my heel, as you sing me a song,

And over my coffin put a bottle of brandy

That the cowboys may drink as they carry me along.

"Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water

To cool my parched lips,' the cowboy then said;

Before I returned his soul had departed,

And gone to the round-up, the cowboy was dead.

We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,

And bitterly wept as we bore him along;

For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome,

We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.

Where men lived wrong, in the desert's maw,

And hell was nothing to shun;

Where they burien 'em neat, without preacher or sheet,

And writ on their foreheads, crude but sweet,

"This Jasper was slow with a gun."

~ Anonymous