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The Pack

© Jane Cassidy

 

I'm a mountain man, a free and wild mountain man

And I travel through the Rockies on my own.

I'm a mountain man, a free and wild mountain man,

And my pack holds all the plunder that I own.

 

I've got a throwing knife.  It has often saved my life,

My hawk has often helped me keep my hair,

My rifle bag, it holds things that are worth more than gold,

For I couldn't shoot a thing if they weren't there.

 

My pack holds all the rest, and it really is the best:

You'd not believe the things that fit inside.

I've my bedroll rolled up tight, and a nightcap for the night,

An outfit made of fine brain-tan deer hide.

 

I'm a mountain man,...

 

I've a sewing kit, sinew, and some extra leather too,

A flask of oil for my sharpening stone,

A big Dutch oven pot and a mitt for when it's hot,

Coffee, sugar, bacon, beans, corn pone.

 

I've a coffee boiler too and a spoon to stir my stew,

A griddle for to make my flapjacks hot,

A blanket that gets laid on the ground so I can trade

All the beads, silver and knife blades that I've got.

 

I'm a mountain man,...

 

I've got a fine rope bed for a place to lay my head,

A guitar and a banjo I can strum,

A shaggy robe of bear and a folded-up slat chair

And five gallon stone wear jugs of the best rum.

 

Tied on my pack real tight for when I stop for the night

Is the canvas for my twelve by fifteen lodge,

And the poles and ropes and stakes and a stovepipe and camp stove and a tarp for the floor and five camp chests and a bureau and rack for my other four guns and a table and chairs and an Indian lady

Who keeps track of the entire hodge-podge.


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