I've found the home whar the buffalo roam,
the abode of the rattlesnake.
Before I relate, emphaticly I state,
this place ain't no place fer"Jake".
Thar ain't nuttin here, O maybe some deer.
The dust, she makes my throat ache.
The trees air to spare, the sun burns my hair,
No, this place ain't no place fer "Jake"
You head fer a town, they ain't neer around,
they always to durn fer apart.
There you'll find dolls, or should I say molls,
they shorely won't soften one's hart.
You take em in arm, to test fer their charn
and find it exceedingly ain't.
What good gals do, like laugh, talk and woo,
these gals won't cause they shant.
Enough of this rot on a much blemished blot,
all nite I could bitch, moan and groan.
Until matters change and I'm off this range,
I'm a thinking of you and of home.
1944
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