| Headed for Wyoming, in 1882. A woman, a team, and a wagon.
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| Gonna make our dreams come true.
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| Settled in the foothills of the big horn mountain slope.
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| Life is sweet we lived on the meat, of the deer and the antelope.
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| We cut house logs on the moutain, with the team we hauled 'em down.
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| Peeled 'em and we stacked 'em up, for a house and bought some ground.
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| Traded for some cattle, and turned 'em out on the range.
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| The skies were blue and we never knew… How things were gonna change.
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| Ole powder river, you’re muddy and wide, how many men have died… upon
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| your shores.
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| When you brand a man a rustler, he’s gotta take a side.
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| There’s no middle ground in this Johnson Country War.
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| Well, the neighbors stopped by yesterday, while I was outside choppin'
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| some wood.
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| And they filled me in on the local news, ain’t none of it sounded good,
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| Said, they’d been some cattle stealin', by some no count outlaw bands.
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| We’d all been branded rustler’s by the big ranchers of this land.
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| Well it was us against the cattlemen, and the years just made it worse.
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| First the drought, then the tough winter, Johnson County had been dealt
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| a curse,
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| Then their came the story about the two dry golgia tax.
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| Ranger Jones and John Tisdale both been shot in the back…
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| Oh, Powder River, you’re muddy and you’re wide,
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| How many men have died upon your shores.
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| When you brand a man a rustler, he’s gotta take a side.
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| There’s no middle ground in this Johnson County War.
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| Then last night at supper time, riders stopped by chance.
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| They said cattleman and hired guns, just burned the Kaycee Ranch,
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| Two men had died this mornin', shot down in the snow.
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| Now the vigilante army was marchin’for Buffalo.
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| Well the county was in an uproar, an every man saddled up to ride.
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| Caught the cattlemen at the TA Ranch, and surrounded all four sides.
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| We hailed the house with bullets and swore we’d make 'em pay.
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| But the calvery came across the plains, and once again saved the day.
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| Well, they marched 'em off to Cheyenne, and no one went to jail.
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| The cattlemen we’re all turned loose, and the hired guns hit the trail.
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| And I guess the only justice, wasn’t much to say the least.
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| Last winter me and mine ate mighty fine on the cattle baron’s beef.
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| Oh Powder River, you’re muddy and you’re wide.
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| How many men have died upon your shores.
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| When you brand a man a rustler, he’s gotta take a side.
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| There’s no middle ground in this Johnson County War.
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| There’s no middle ground in this Johnson County War… |