<p class="tit-song">THE DREARY BLACK HILLS <span class="pagenum"><SPAN id="page177" name="page177"></SPAN>(p. 177)</span></p>
<p>Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale,<br/>
I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale,<br/>
I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills<br/>
To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.</p>
<p class="add1em">Don't go away, stay at home if you can,<br/>
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,<br/>
For big Walipe or Comanche Bills<br/>
They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.</p>
<p>The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night<br/>
With loafers and bummers of most every plight;<br/>
On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,<br/>
Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.</p>
<p>I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,<br/>
I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;<br/>
Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,—<br/>
They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.</p>
<p>Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold,<br/>
Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold;<br/>
Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill<br/>
By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.</p>
<p class="add1em">Don't <span class="pagenum"><SPAN id="page178" name="page178"></SPAN>(p. 178)</span> go away, stay at home if you can,<br/>
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,<br/>
For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills<br/>
They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.</p>
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