Kind friends, listen here to my pitiful tale
An object of pity, I’m looking quite stale,
I gave up my trade selling Wright’s Patent Pills
To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills
Don’t go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne
For big Wallipe or Comanche Bill
They'll lift up your hair at the dreary Black Hill
I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,
I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;
Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills -
They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.
So don’t go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne
For old Sitting Bull and Chief Comanche Dan
They're raising pure hell round the town of Cheyenne
Oh, I wish that the man who had started this cell
Was a captive and Crazy Horse had him in Hell
There's no use in groaning or swearing like pitch
But a man who would stay here's a son of a bitch
Don’t go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne
For old Sitting Bull and Chief Wallipe Bill
They'll lift up your scalp in the dreary Black Hills