Way high up in the Sierry Peaks
Where the yellow-jack pines grow tall,
Old Buster Jiggs and Sandy Bob
Had a round-up camp last fall.
Well they took along their running irons
Maybe a dog or two,
And they 'lowed thy'd brand every long-eared calf
That came within their view.
Now every little long-eared dogie
That didn't push up by day,
Got his long ears whittled and his old hide scorched
In a most artistic way.
One fine day, says Buster Jiggs,
As he throws his seago down,
