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lyrics

Montana Bound
m.litton

In April of ’82, along the Rio Grande
I signed on with Don Lovell ‘n the Circle-dot brand
We swam the cattle cross from Matamoros town
The wrangler drove the remuda
Soon we were all Montana bound

Our foreman’s name was Flood, ol’ Fox his segundo
They said the secret to trailing doggies, boys
Is you never let ‘em know, keep ‘em headed
On up the trail, but never show your hand
Spare your mounts, keeps their blankets dry
Cause a man afoot is just one less man

(chorus): Hi-yip hi-yip, Montana bound
Giddy-up head ‘em on their way
Hi-yip hi-yip, Montana bound
Come a cow-ki-yippie-yi-aye!

Across the Nueces up where it doubles round
Fresh from the Atascosa, we made the night’s bed-ground
But the unexpected waits up the Old Western Trail
The cattle jumped from their sleep
Like 3000 demons straight from hell

We whipped our slickers high ‘n fought to make ‘em turn
Fired our 44s so close the powder burned
When we hit the mesquite in that night stampede
I held the pummel and I held the cantle
(chorus)

A dry ol’ desert drive beyond the San Antone
The herd like a dragon curved to the Colorado
We had the trail boss, chuck, the point
The swing, flank ‘n drag
When the rustlers came to cut the herd
We helped the Rangers get ‘em bagged

We braved the raging Brazos
But the Red had shallowed down
On her banks we counted many graves
Of drovers she had drowned
In crossing the Indian land s we battered ‘em some beef
The Comanche trailed to the Cimarron
At the Kansas line we were home free
(chorus)

After months of drought ‘n flood ‘n muddy loblollies
Of prowling wolves and big buff bulls ‘n glorious stampedes
We vied for the ladies’ pleasures and played the gamblers’ odds
The closest we came to the bitter end
Was the night we shot the lights out in Dodge…

On north to Ogallala in a game of Spanish monte
Lady luck was velvet on the Rebel’s jack ‘n queen
But a fortnight on up the trail at 40-Island Forde
A good man drowned ‘n we buried him
And prayed his soul would find the Lord…

Below the Big-Horn Range we rode the Powder to the Yellowstone
At a bar in Frenchman’s Forde where only fools go alone
A boasting Yank toasted General Grant
And got his face slapped with whiskey
Guns were drawn, the Yankee died
As the Rebel cried, Here’s to General Lee…

Squaw Winter in Montana on the Mother Missouri
We delivered our long-horn herd to the Blackfoot Agency
Now the Chinooks blow around the fire
As our stories are told
Hell I wouldn’t trade my trail days, boys
To be bigshot with bags of gold

Hi-yip hi-yip, Montana bound
Giddy-up head ‘em on their way
Hi-yip hi-yip, Montana bound
Come a cow-ki-yippie-yi-aye!

credits

from Between the Wars, released September 16, 2020

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The Gothic Cowboy/The Border Band image

The Gothic Cowboy/The Border Band Lawrence, Kansas

I'm a creekbank ghetto boy. Began my singin' near half a century ago in Canada, then hit northeast, down thru Nashville, Austin, out to Colorado and back to Kansas where I started out and will likely remain. My influences are Leadbelly, Jimmie Rodgers, CCR and The Band, while the juices of a hundred others flavor my music, not to mention the devil himself if that's what it takes to make a song... ... more

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