BURY ME OUT ON THE PRAIRIE
As recorded by Bradley Kincaid, 1930.

1. Well, I've got no use for the women.
A true one may never be found.
They'll use a man for his money.
When it's gone, they'll turn him down.
They're all alike at the bottom,
Selfish and grasping for all.
They'll stick by a man while he's winnin',
And laugh in his face at his fall.

2. My pal was a straight young puncher,
Honest and upright and square,
But he turned to a gunman and gambler,
And a woman sent him there.
Quicker and surer were his gunplay,
Till his heart and his body lay dead.
When a vaquero insulted her picture,
He filled him full of lead.

3. All night long they trailed him,
Through mesquite and chaparral,
And I couldn't but think of the woman
As I saw him pitch and fall.
If she'd been the pal that she should've,
He might have been raisin' a son,
Instead of out there on the prairie,
To fall by the ranger's gun.

4. Death's slow sting did not trouble.
His chances for life were too slim,
But where they were puttin' his body
Was all that worried him.
He lifted his head on his elbow.
The blood from his wounds flowed red.
He looked at his pals grouped about him,
And whispered to them and said:

5. "Oh, bury me out on the prairie,
Where the coyotes may howl o'er my grave.
Bury me out on the prairie,
And some of my bones please save.
Wrap me up in the blankets,
And bury me deep 'neath the ground.
Cover me over with boulders
Of granite huge and round."

6. So they buried him out on the prairie,
And the coyotes still howl o'er his grave,
But his soul is now a-restin',
From the unkind cut she gave;
And many a similar puncher,
As he rides by that pile of stone,
Recalls some similar woman
And envies his moldering bones.