Subject: Roundup, Montana by Alice Flynn
From:
bradfordian
Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:37 AM
Roundup, Montana by Alice Flynn
(To the tune of Kilkelly by Peter Jones)
Roundup, Montana, 19 and 60, my darlin' daughter Lucille,
Your Mother has asked me to write you this letter, I hope I can say how we feel.
I know you've been wishin' for a job in the city All the years growin' up on the ranch.
Seems all the young folks are moving away now Just seems like they want a new chance.
The boy from the rimrocks still askin' about you I remember as youngsters you'd play.
I'm goin' to town now, so I'll post this letter, Please write when there's something to say.
Roundup, Montana, 19 and 70, my darlin' daughter Lucille.
The neighbor boy came home from 'Nam in a coffin, it really was a raw deal.
He had much to live for, I don't think his father will ever get over the loss,
I hope you remember to drop them a line, there's been too many payin' that cost.
I'm sure that the city has money to offer, but you know life means more than that,
It's times like the present we think about loved ones, So, please call collect and we'll chat.
Roundup, Montana, 19 and 80, my darlin' daughter Lucille.
The coal money's makin' some changes round here, and the real estate seems like a steal.
Lots a new folks movin' here from the cities, they want their own piece of the land.
Cashin' in houses in L A and Frisco, they buy up whatever they can.
Mother and I were just talkin' bout sellin', we don't know how else to go on.
Ranchin' has always been our way of life, but the times when it paid are all gone.
Seems like you really have found a new home there, we always had hoped you'd come back.
Guess now that you've married that engineer fella, We'd better stop counting on that.
Roundup, Montana, 19 and 90, my darlin' daughter Lucille.
I just finished taken some tourists out hunting, they sure like a real Western meal.
Mother's been cookin' all day for the greenhorns, I really wish she'd take a rest.
Without some retirement it seems we'll keep workin', as long as our health stands the test.
I hate to sell out, you know this land's my father's, he fought the depression and won.
And after his struggles, it seems like I owe him to knuckle down deep and work on.
I guess you don't care about seein' the old place, I know you're all busy with kids.
We still have some horses, I could teach them ridin', You remember old Paint and old Dibs?
Roundup, Montana, the year of 2000, to the daughter of Dusty and Sal,
Your parents have started a dot.com on ranching and asked me to send this email.
They're really too busy to write to you now, cause their IPO's hotter than hell,
So, here is their website, I hope you will visit, along with your husband as well.
We know that your life has a different direction, so the land here is going in trust.
They want to protect it from big subdivisions and if this cuts you out - then it must.
They figured since you never answered their letters except to complain about them,
The life in Montana was not what you wanted, Sincerely, the hired-man, Slim.
Alternate last verse, for Wolfgang:
Roundup, Montana, the year of 2000, to the daughter of Dusty and Sal,
We've gathered the neighbors and your cousins together, now that the ranch is for sale.
We're so glad your coming, your parents are thankful that you will be finally home.
And since you can purchase the land of your father's, the bank can be paid off the loan.
When Dusty came out to the bunk house to tell me, I thought he was saying goodbye,
I never expected to see tears and laughter, but down by the barn we both cried.
His heart's in this land and I'd thought you'd forgotten, but now he and Sal both agree,
The years of their hard times to keep this old homestead will give you a life sweet and free.
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sj
