CROSSING THE PLAINS
Air: Caroline of Edinburgh [Caroline of Edinburgh Town]
Put's Original California Songster
Sacramento: Gardiner & Kirk, 1854

Come all you Californians, I pray ope wide your ears,
If you are going across the Plains, with snotty mules or steers;
Remember beans before you start, likewise dried beef and ham.
Beware of ven'son, d——n the stuff, it's oftentimes a ram.

You must buy two revolvers, a bowie-knife and belt,
Says you, "Old feller, now stand off, or I will have your pelt;"
The greenhorn looks around about, but not a soul can see,
Says he, "There's not a man in town, but what's afraid of me."

You shouldn't shave, but cultivate your down, and let it grow,
So when you do return, 'twill be as soft and white as snow;
Your lovely Jane will be surprised, your ma'll begin to cook;
The greenhorn to his mother'll say, "How savage I must look!"

"How do you like it overland?" his mother he will say,
"All right, excepting cooking, then the devil is to pay;
For some won't cook, and others can't, and then it's curse and damn,
The coffee-pot's, begun to leak, so has the frying-pan."

It's always about the teams, and how we ought to do,

All hands get mad, and each one says, "I own as much as you:"
One of them says, "I'll buy or sell, I'm d——d if I care which;"
Another says, "Let's buy him out, the lousy son of a b———."

You calculate on sixty days to take you over the Plains,
But there you lack for bread and meat, for coffee and for brains;
Your sixty days are a hundred or more, your grub you've got to divide,
Your steers and mules are alkalied, so foot it—you cannot ride.

You have to stand a watch at night, to keep the Indians off,
About sundown some heads will ache, and some begin to cough;
To be deprived of health we know is always very hard,
Though every night some one is sick, to get rid of standing guard.

Your canteens, they should be well filled, with poison alkali,
So when you get tired of traveling, you can cramp all up and die;
The best thing in the world to keep your bowels loose and free,
Is fight and quarrel among yourselves, and seldom if ever agree.

There's not a log to make a seat, along the river Platte,
So when you eat, you've got to sit or stand, or sit down square and flat;
It's fun to cook with buffalo wood, take some that's newly born,
If I knew once what I know now, I'd a gone around the Horn!

The desert's nearly death on corns, while walking in the sand,
And drive a jackass by the tail, it's d——n this overland;
I'd rather ride a raft at sea, and then at once be lost,
Says Bill, "Let's leave this poor old mule, we can't get him across."

The ladies have the hardest tine, that emigrate by land,
For when they cook with buffalo wood, they often burn a hand;
And then they jaw their husbands round, get mad and spill the tea,
Wish to the Lord they'd be taken down with a turn of the di-a-ree.

When you arrive at Placerville, or Sacramento City,
You've nothing in the world to eat, no money——what a pity!
Your striped pants are all worn out, which causes people to laugh,
When they see you gaping round the town like a great big brindle calf.

You're lazy, poor, and all broke down, such hardships you endure,
The post-office at Sacramento all such men will cure;
You'll find a line from ma' and pa', and one from lovely Sal,
If that don't physic you every mail, you never will get well.


The above is from http://www.manifest-history.org/CaliforniaColumnResearch/music/CrossingThePlains.htm I do not know how exactly they copy the link you put, Kat. I googled the first line from your link and that's the first site I found complete lyrics on.