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