The Disheartened Ranger

Learned from Martha D. Burns

Come listen to the ranger, you kindhearted stranger.
His song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear.
He's kept the commanches away from your ranches,
And followed them far on the Texas frontier.

He's weary of scouting, of traveling and routing
Those bloodthirsty brutes over prairie and wood.
No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner, 
No peace in his slumbering bed in the mud.

No beets, no potatoes, no corn, no tomatoes,
The bread is as hard as the sole of your shoe,
All day without drinking, all night without winking,
I'll tell you kind stranger, that never will do.

Those great alligators, the state legislators
Are huffing and blowing two thirds of the time.
But windy orations about rangers and rations
Never put in our pocket a tenth of a dime.

They do not regard us, they will not reward us
Though hungry and weary with holes in our coats.
But the election is coming and they must be drumming
And praising our valor to gather our votes.

Though sore it may grieve you, the ranger must leave you
Exposed to the arrow and knife of the foe.
So guard your own ranches and mind the commanches,
For back to the States I'm determined to go.

Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal,
Where churches have steeples and ladies are kind,
Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded,
Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets relined.

Thanks for listening to the ranger, you kindhearted stranger.
His song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear.
So guard your own ranches, and mind the commanches,
Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year.