Was in that grand ol' Summer, the year of Seventy-Six
My Brother and I was young then, didn't barely know the tricks
We were down in Taos, what they call New Mexico
Off we went a riding, for the land of the Buffalo

Up the Rio Grande, to Fremont's bad luck camp
Little did we know then, we'd have lots of that
Then we hit the high peaks, stayed up there for weeks
Our hearts were a'soaring, we didn't need to speak

On we rode always watching, looking for the shaggy beast
But using wire cutters never seemed to cease
Bad went poor and poorer yet, the medicine was gone
We both knew what that meant, prayed it didn't last long

Now the year is Seventy-Nine; we know most all the tricks
The thing we know for sure friend; the world is in a fix
Where modern man will lead us to; don't really want to know
'Cause both of us got to ride; try and find them Buffalo

W.J. Lynus O'Brien
written at Paul's Bight cabin
Scowl Arm of Kassan Bay
Prince of Wales Island, S.E. Alaska
New Years Eve, 1979
very much alone in the wilderness

Comments (2)

Write comment