The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #101783 Message #3836945
Posted By: Steve Gardham
05-Feb-17 - 02:23 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: WWII Song:'Come bury me out in Benghazi'
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: WWII Song:'Come bury me out in Benghazi'
As the 2 versions on the other thread are slightly different to the one in the Hillbilly Album and I think this version is most likely to have influenced our British songs I include it here:
BURY ME OUT ON THE PRAIRIE, key C, waltz time.
We can deal with the tune later.
Now I've got no use for the women,
A true one may seldom be found,
They 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 stay by a man while he's winning,
And laugh in his face at his fall.
My pal was an honest young puncher,
Honest and upright and true,
But he turned to a hard-shooting gunman,
On account of a girl named Lou.
He fell in with evil companions,
the kind that are better off dead,
When a gambler insulted her picture,
He filled him full of lead.
All through the long night they trailed him,
Through mesquite and thick chaparral,
And I couldn't help think of the woman,
As I saw him pitch and fall.
If she'd been a pal that she should have,
He might have been raising a son,
Instead of out there on the prairie,
To die by the ranger's gun.
Death's sharp sting did not trouble,
his chances for life were too slim,
But where they were putting his body,
Was all that worried him.
He lifted his head on his elbow,
The blood from his wounds flowed red,
He gazed at his pals grouped about him,
And he whispered to them and said.
"Oh, bury me out on the prairie
Where the coyotes may howl o'er my grave,
Oh, bury me out on the prairie
But from them my bones please save.
Wrap me up in my blankets,
And bury me deep in the ground,
Cover me over with boulders,
Of granite, gray and round."
So we buried him out on the prairie,
Where the coyotes can howl o'er his grave,
And his soul is now a-resting,
From the unkind cut she gave.
And many another young puncher,
As he rides past that pile of stone,
Recalls some similar woman,
And thinks of his mouldering bones.