Well, the good times scratch the laugh
From the lungs of the young men
with their heads to their chests
They told lies about whiskey
Yes, and some tell the story
Lost an eye to a buck deer
in the Tongue River Valley
Oh, and some tell the story
Who sent word through the Black Hills
there was a mountain of gold
And the gold she laid cold
And the sun she sets down on the trees
for the land that they live in
Some flat shoe fool from the
And some news that he'd read
And it was drinks all around,
and the news he was telling
Was the one they'd called crazy,
been caught and been dealt with
he read the news from the paper
And the old ones gathered closer
so as they could hear better
It was sometime last September
And the gold she laid cold in their pockets
And the sun she sets down on the trees
for the land that they live in
Where the white man does as he pleases
Cold nights on the plains,
The Easterner says he'll have
He gives the paper to the crow boy,
And the gold's still way cold
And the sun still sets down on the tree.
for the land that they live in
Where the white man does as he pleases
Where the white man does as he pleases