On my way out to the gold mines, crossing the western hills,
Me and my little dog, Clyde, and a horse named Prancing Bill,
I slept under the stars, I heard the coyotes sing,
And the sun was a golden coin shining just for me.
The sun shone just for me.
But high up in the mountains, Bill began to foam,
And as I whipped and tugged him, he bucked against his load,
'Round a hairpin turn, the wagon tumbled o'er
And down the jagged rocks, Bill fell with all I owned.
He fell with all I owned.
As the sun died out, coyotes began to howl
Little Clyde's head rose and answered with a growl,
But when I bent to call him, he snapped at me and ran,
And then I was alone in the silent rocks and sand.
The silent rocks and sand.
By my fifth day of walking, I was crawling on my knees,
In handfuls of dust from between the dying weeds.
I laid out in the dirt as the sun lost her glow,
But I was welcomed in the dark by the song of a hundred toads.
The song of a hundred toads.
The song of a hundred toads.
The song of a hundred toads.
The song of a hundred toads.