JOE BOWERS
My name it is Joe Bowers;
I have a brother Ike.
I came from old Missoura,
All the way from Pike.
I used to know a girl there;
Her name was Sally Black.
I asked her if she'd marry me;
She said it was a whack.
She said to me, "Joe Bowers.
Before we hitch for life,
You'd better get a little home
To take your little wife.' '
"Oh Sally, dearest Sally,
Oh Sally, for your sake.
I'll go to California
And try and raise a stake."
When I got in that country
I didn't have a red;
I had such wolfish feelings
I wished myself most dead.
But the thughts of my dear Sally
Soon made those feelings git,
And whispered hope to Bowers,
I wish I had them yet.
At last a letter,
Enough to make me swear,
That Sally married a butcher,
And the butcher had red hair.
Before I got through reading,
At length the letter said:
Sally had a baby,
And the baby's head was red.
From Folk Songs of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shellan
Collected from John Vass, Hillsville, Virginia, 1958
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JOE BOWERS
My name it is Joe Bowers;
I have a brother Ike.
I came from old Missoura,
All the way from Pike.
I used to know a girl there;
Her name was Sally Black.
I asked her if she'd marry me;
She said it was a whack.
She said to me, "Joe Bowers.
Before we hitch for life,
You'd better get a little home
To take your little wife.' '
"Oh Sally, dearest Sally,
Oh Sally, for your sake.
I'll go to California
And try and raise a stake."
When I got in that country
I didn't have a red;
I had such wolfish feelings
I wished myself most dead.
But the thughts of my dear Sally
Soon made those feelings git,
And whispered hope to Bowers,
I wish I had them yet.
At last a letter,
Enough to make me swear,
That Sally married a butcher,
And the butcher had red hair.
Before I got through reading,
At length the letter said:
Sally had a baby,
And the baby's head was red.
From Folk Songs of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shellan
Collected from John Vass, Hillsville, Virginia, 1958
My name it is Joe Bowers;
I have a brother Ike.
I came from old Missoura,
All the way from Pike.
I used to know a girl there;
Her name was Sally Black.
I asked her if she'd marry me;
She said it was a whack.
She said to me, "Joe Bowers.
Before we hitch for life,
You'd better get a little home
To take your little wife.' '
"Oh Sally, dearest Sally,
Oh Sally, for your sake.
I'll go to California
And try and raise a stake."
When I got in that country
I didn't have a red;
I had such wolfish feelings
I wished myself most dead.
But the thughts of my dear Sally
Soon made those feelings git,
And whispered hope to Bowers,
I wish I had them yet.
At last a letter,
Enough to make me swear,
That Sally married a butcher,
And the butcher had red hair.
Before I got through reading,
At length the letter said:
Sally had a baby,
And the baby's head was red.
From Folk Songs of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shellan
Collected from John Vass, Hillsville, Virginia, 1958