VerseKind Friends Won’t You Listen To My Pitiful Tale,I’m An Object Of Pity And Looking Quite Stale.I Gave Up My Job Selling Wright’s Patent PillsTo Prospect For Gold In The Dreary Black HillsThe Roundhouse At Cheyenne Is Filled Every NightWith Loafers And Bummers Of Most Every Plight;On Their Back, There’s No Clothes, In Their Pockets No Bills,And Each Night They Keep Leaving For The Dreary Black HillsVerseSo Don't Travel Away; Stay At Home If You Can.Stay Away From That City, They Call It Cheyenne,Where The Blue Waters Roll, And Comanche BillWill Lift Up Your Hair In Them Dreary Black Hills.Kind Friends To Conclude My Advice I'll Unfold.Don't Go To The Black Hills And Search There For Gold.Railroad Speculators, Their Pockets You'll FillBy Taking A Trip To The Dreary Black Hills.OutroI Got To Cheyenne, No Gold Could I Find.And I Thought Of The Maiden L'd Left Far Behind;The Rain, Hail, And Snow, Froze Plumb To The Gills,They Call Me The Orphan Of The Dreary Black Hills,They Call Me The Orphan Of The Dreary Black Hills.
