Tom Russell - The ballad of william sycamore

^GMy father was a mountaineer His ^Dfist was a knotty ^Ghammer He was ^Cquick on his feet like a ^Grunning ^Emdeer And he ^Gspoke with a ^CYankee ^Gstammer

And ^Csome are wrapped in ^Glinen ^Emfine And ^Csome like a godling ^Gscion But ^CI was cradled on ^Gtwigs of ^Empine In the ^Gskin of a ^Cmountain ^Glion

^GI lost my boyhood and found my wife A ^Dgirl like a Salem ^Gclipper A ^Cwoman as straight as a ^Ghunting ^Emknife With ^Geyes as ^Cbright as the ^GDipper

We ^Ccleared our camp where the ^Gbuffalo ^Emfeed ^C Unheard of streams were our ^Gflagons And I ^Csowed my sons like ^Gapple ^Emseed On the ^Gtrail of the ^CWestern ^Gwagons

They were right, tight boys, never sulky or slow ^D A fruitful, goodly ^Gmuster The ^Celdest died at the ^GAla^Emmo And the ^Gyoungest ^Cfell with ^GCuster

The ^Cletter that told it ^Gburned my ^Emhand ^C I smiled and said, "So ^Gbe it" But I ^Ccould not live when they ^Gfenced my ^Emland Oh, it ^Gbroke my ^Cheart just to ^Gsee it

I ^Csaddled the red, un^Gbroken ^Emcolt ^C I rode him into the ^Gday there But he ^Cthrew me down like a ^Gthunder^Embolt And he ^Grolled on me ^Cas I ^Glay there

^GNow I lie in the heart of the fat, black soil Like the ^Dseed of a prairie ^Gthistle It has ^Cwashed my bones in ^Ghoney and ^Emoil And it's ^Gpicked 'em as ^Cclean as a ^Gwhistle

And my ^Cyouth returns, like the ^Grains of ^EmSpring ^C My sons, like wild geese ^Gflying And I ^Clie and I hear the ^Gmeadowlark ^Emsing And there's ^Gmuch con^Ctent in my ^Gdying

Go ^Cplay with the town you have ^Gbuilt out of ^Emblocks ^C The towns where you may have ^Gbound me I ^Csleep in the earth like a ^Gtired old ^Emfox And my ^Gbuffa^Clo have ^Gfound me I ^Csleep in the earth like a ^Gtired old ^Emfox And my ^Gbuffa^Clo have ^Gfound me