Classic Poem

Oh, it's move along, you dogies, don't be driftin' by th' way,
For there's goin' to be a round-up an' a cuttin'-out they say,
Of all th' devil's dogies an' a movin' at sunrise,
An' you'd better be preparin' fer a long drive to th' skies.

Oh, it's move along, you dogies, don't be driftin' by the way,
Fer th' boss of all th' rus'lers is a-comin' 'round to-day.
So you'd better be a-movin', throw your dust right in his eyes,
An' hit th' trail a-flyin' fer th' home-ranch in th' skies.

So it's move along, you dogies, fer th' devil has in hand
A bunch of red-hot irons an' he's surely goin' to brand
All his dogies, an' some others, an' mighty suddin, too,
So you'd better be a-movin' so he won't be brandin' you.

So it's move along, you dogies, tho' you have th' mange o' sin,
There's a range you're sure to shake it when you come a-trailin' in,
Where th' grass is allers growin' an' th' water's allers pure,
So it's move along, you dogies, 'fore th' devil brands you sure.