John Fraser

Early day rangers were a tough and hardy lot 
Little John Fraser, he came here as a Scot 
And he rode that railroad, take it on out west
Just a hope and a prayer for the best

That Bluestem cuttin’ engine offered no farewells 
Two years over twenty, feeble pockets and poor health 
With a plow in the ground and the oxen on the hitch 
He found this life of livin’ awfully fit 

Where the snakes and the fleas, they carry their disease and they’re happy to make you ill
Where the Comanche eyes intercept the red skies, creeping up over the hill
If your warm-hearted body is still beating in the soddie and the plains haven’t made the kill
Then that cold-blooded winter surely will

Eliza my dear, for you the only one 
The sun sets and rises, I awake these seven months 
Inform my father, tell m’ladies what I wrote 
Come warned, come armed, come home 

Where the snakes and the fleas, they carry their disease and they’re happy to make you ill
Where the Comanche eyes intercept the red skies, creeping up over the hill
If your warm-hearted body is still beating in the soddie and the plains haven’t made the kill
Then that cold-blooded winter surely will

Little John Fraser was a tough and hardy lot
Hundred-sixty acres and a house made out of sod 
With the grit in his teeth and the blood that he shed 
Imagine the grief of the place he fled 

Where the snakes and the fleas, they carry their disease and they’re happy to make you ill
Where the Comanche eyes intercept the red skies, creeping up over the hill
If your warm-hearted body is still beating in the soddie and the plains haven’t made the kill
Then that cold-blooded winter surely will