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Fuck / Fight / Trip Pipe


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"O, bury me not on the lone prairie,"
These words came low and mournfully,
From the cold pale lips of a youth who lay,
On his dying bed at the close of day,

He’d wasted time, til upon his brow,
The shadowed clouds were gatherin’ now,
He thought of his home and his friends so nigh,
Oh, how the cowboys gathered to see him die...

 

"O, bury me not–" and his voice fell there,
We heeded not his dying prayer,
In a narrow grave just six by three,
We buried him there on the lone prairie,

We buried him there on the lone prairie,
Where the buzzards fly and the wind blows free,
Where rattlesnakes rattle and the tumbleweeds,
Blow across his grave on the lone prairie...

 

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