White
Pine Mountains
They had whiskey for
breakfast
In the White Pine
mountains,
They prayed for silver
And their moonshine
stills.
They dug like golphers
In those White Pine
mountains,
Then they ran like
rabbits
Down those White Pine
hills.
They found silver in the
mountains
In eighteen sixty-seven
When half of Nevada
tried to
Climb their way to
heaven.
There was fever in the
mountains
In eighteen sixty-eight
They poured into Nevada
Like a hell-bound
freight.
There were over forty
murders
In the White Pine
mountains,
A hundred saloons
So they drank their
fill.
They dug like golphers
In those White Pine
mountains,
Then they ran like
rabbits
Down those White Pine
hills.
They came down the
mountains
Eighteen seventy-one,
They'd stripped away the
silver
In a five-year run.
No more whiskey for
breakfast
In the White Pine
mountains,
No more prayers
For the moonshine
stills.
They dug like golphers
In those White Pine
mountains,
Then they ran like
rabbits
Down those White Pine
hills.
Yes, they ran like
rabbits
Down those White Pine
hills.
Bluegrass / Western
Lyric by Dennis Goodwin
- copyright 2007 e-mail: ezywriter47@hotmail.com