'Twas in the town of Jacksboro, in the spring o' seventy-three
A man by the name of Crego come stepping up to me
Said how d'you do young fellers, and how'd you like to go
And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo

It's me being out of employment, to old Crego I did say
This going out on the buffalo range, depends upon the pay
But if you'll pay good wages, and transportation too
I think, sir, I will go with you to the range o' the buffalo

Well, it's now we've crossed Pease River boys, our troubles they have begun
First old stinker that I cut - Christ how I cut my thumb
While skinning the dog-gone old buffalo, our lives they had no show
For the Indians watched to pick us off, while skinning the buffalo

The season being near over, old Crego, he did say
The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day
We coaxed him and we argued, but still it was no go
We left his damned old bones to bleached on the range of the buffalo

It's now we've crossed Pease River, and homeward we are bound
No more in that old fire country, will ever we be found
Go back to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go
For God's forsaken the buffalo range, and the damn old buffalo