His violin within its case, Which he removes with care ; I see him rosum up his bow With artist's skill most rare.
Ole Uncle Jimmie, praise his name, An' rest his soul in peace; Wuz known all over the Western Range; His fame shall never cease. Th' music which he played, I know, May have been cor-do-roy; But it wuz jist th' kind which pleased A country ghel an' boy—
His rep-er-tore wuz circumscribed— In keepin' with his skill. But everything he tried to play, Wuz done with right good will. That "Ar-kan-saw-yer Traveler" chune Wuld allus head th' list— No cowboy dance would be complete Ef this one chune wuz missed.
It mattered little what tha danc'd— The Ole Virginia Reel, A polka, Schottisch er a waltz— It was th' same old spiel. In sets o' four, in sets o' eight, A one-step er a two, That "Ar-kan-saw-yer" chune wuz play'd Th' blessed evening through.
'Mong other chunes were "Money Musk," "My Sailor's on the Sea," Er—" The Old Fat Gal," an' "Rye Straw," "The Fisher's Hornpipe"—Gee!