Cat. #1201 (MFH #834) - As sung by Ollie Gilbert, Mountain View, Arkansas on August 31, 1971
VERSE 1
I have got no use for th women
A true one may never be found
They'll use a man for his money
When it's gone, they turn him down
They all alike a th bottom
Selfish and gasping for all
They stay by a man while he's winning
A laugh in his face when he falls
VERSE 2
My pal was an honest young puncher
Honest an' upright an' true
But he turned out to a hard shootin' gunman
On th count of a girl, named Lou
He fell with his evil companion
The kind that better off dead
When a gambler insulted her picture
He filled him full of lead
VERSE 3
All thru this long night they trailed him
Thru th misqueteers an' thick chapozay
An' I couldn't help think of that woman
As I saw him pitch an' fall
If she'd been th pal that she should have
He might have been raisin' a son
Instead of out on th prairie
To die by a Rangers gun
VERSE 4
Deaths sharp sting did not trouble
Its chances for him were to slim
But where they were puttin' his body
Was all the world to him
He lifted his head on his elbow
Th blood from his wounds flowed red
He gazed at his pardner, grouped around him
As he whispered an' said
VERSE 5
O, bury me not on th prairie
Where th cowoytes may howl over my grave
Bury me out on th prairie
But from them, my bones please save
Wrap me up in my blanket
An' bury me deep in th ground
Cover me over with boulders
Of gentle, gray an' round
VERSE 6
So, we buried him out on th prairie
Where th cowoyotes can howl o'er his grave
An' his soul is now a restin'
From the unkind act she give
Any one, another young puncher
As he rides past that pile of stones
Recalls from th sinful woman
An' think of his moanful bones
O, bury me out on th prairie
Where th cowoyotes will howl o'er my grave