The Deadwood Stage

Oh, the Deadwood stage's a-rollin' on over the plains,
With the curtains flappin' an' the driver a-slappin' the reins.
A beautiful sky, a wonderful day.
Whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away!

Oh, the Deadwood stage's a-headin' on over the hills,
Where the Injun arrows are thicker 'n porcupine quills.
Dangerous land, no time to delay,
So whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away!

We're headin' straight fer town, loaded down with a fancy cargo
Care of Wells & Fargo, Illinois- Boy!

Oh, the Deadwood stage's a-comin' on over the crest,
Like a homin' pigeon 'at's a-hankerin' after its nest.
Twenty-three miles we've covered today,
So whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away!

The wheels go turnin' 'round, homeward bound,
Cain'tcha hear 'em hummin'?
Happy times are comin' fer to stay- Hey!

We'll be home tonight by the light of the silv'ry moon,
An' my heart's a-thumpin' like a mandolin a-plunkin' a tune.
When I git home, I'm fixin' to stay,
So whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away!

Here they be! Here they be!
How's about a welcome- a peaceful sort of welcome fer the gang?
Oh, the Deadwood stage's finally home again!
Stewed by stabbard if it ain't Calamity Jane!
Hi, ya, Calam! Whudja bring us today?
New rubber boots?
Ten-dollar suits?
Things to crochet?

Beads that sparkle like a prism,
Snake oil fer yer rheumatism,
Calico an' gingham fer the girls!
Gumdrops made up in Chicago,
Gumdrops jist a trifle soggy,
And a genuine string of artificial pearls!

Here's a hat from Cincinatti,
Same as Adelina Patti wore in ev'ry famous concert hall.
Cast yer eye on Doctor Borah's patent-pendin' hair-restorer,
Guaranteed to grow hair on a billiard ball!

Introducin' Henry Miller,
Jist as busy as a fizzy sarsp'rilla.
Ain't a showman any smarter,
Operates the Golden Garter,
Where the cream of Deadwood City come to dine.
And I'm glad to say he's a very good friend of mine!

Hi, Joe! Say, whur'dja git 'em fancy clothes?
I know! Off some feller's laundry line!
Hi, Bo! Aren'tcha the prairie rose,
Smellin' like a watermelon vine?

Here's the man the Sheriff watches.
On his gun there's more 'n twenty-seven notches.
On the draw there's no one faster,
And you're flirtin' with disaster
When Bill Hickok's reputation ya malign,
And I'm glad to say he's a very good friend of a friend of mine!

Oh, my throat's as dry as the desert thistle in May.
In the Golden Garter gonna wet my whistle today.
Last to the bar's a three-legged crow!
Set 'em up, Joe! Set 'em up, Joe! Set 'em up, Joe!
Set 'em up, Joe!